Burning
by Jouen Jinyoku
Summary: This story is in the eyes of MacGyver's daughter and will prove to be quite challenging for poor Mac.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.**

**Chapter 1**

I never understood why I never fit in while in school, at work, or in life in general. I was your basic teenager. I loved hanging out at the mall, working on the weekends to get some spending money, dating, and just sitting around the house. I graduated this year and I'm currently working with my father at a place called The Phoenix Foundation.

I never really knew my mother—she took off the moment I was born, leaving me to be the problem of the system, but my father found out and came to get me—and consequently, got really close to him, instead, as a child. We lived on the docks in a one bedroom boat house and as a child we shared the loft, the two beds fitting up there just fine with lots of space, but as I got older I wanted my privacy, so to keep me happy we moved to a small two bedroom apartment a couple of blocks away from my school. I graduated that year and Pete, my father's—MacGyver as people know him—boss and total best friend, pulled some strings to get me into the foundation under an 'intern' program.

It was hard for me to make friends in school, I was shy and didn't like to just talk to the people around me and ended up spending more time in the school library instead of with the cliques in school. I never wanted to be a member of the popular crowd, although if they knew that I'm sure they wouldn't have been pleased. While everyone else was partying and drinking, I would be home studying, on assignment with my father or at the arcade in the mall a couple of blocks from my house, playing some video games before supper. Everyone went to prom while I sat on the beach with my father, sipping on some kind of mixture that I didn't even want to know the ingredients to, watching the sun set. I didn't mind at the time, and I was fortunate enough too had met my best friend that day, a girl named Zaven. I wasn't a big one on drinking, partying, or dances and she was drunk—or as she called in, slightly impaired—the night we met. She stumbled by us on the beach and my father and I helped her out when her, now ex-boyfriend, began to harass her and stuff. We've been inseparable ever since.

I'm your basic seventeen year old teenage girl, working in a stable job—which it is hard to explain what it is I do exactly; I'm basically sent with my father to fix problems that others have created in a peaceful manner—and I couldn't see anything that could throw my life off track, until now that is.

I was getting ready for yet another assignment, packing my things into the jeep to go to the airport, talking to Zaven on my cell phone—which I managed to save up for with my own money—camera, video, the works—while I waited for my father to get in gear.

"Yeah I know," I said into the phone, climbing into the front passenger seat and fastening my seatbelt before turning my attention to my father as he came down the front steps and into the jeep, "I promise Zave, I'll be back in time for your birthday."

"You better be," she said back in a sigh, "You know this whole job thing really sucks!"

"Why?" I asked as my father started the engine and began to drive, "You work too," I pointed out, only to hear her laugh sarcastically.

"Uh, Yeah, but my job doesn't take me out of the country," she shot back in a laugh, "just have fun and don't forget to e-mail me once you get there."

I nodded, not that she could see me, "I'll do even better," I said, turning my attention to the road in front of us instead of looking out of the passenger window, "I'll call."

"Just make sure that you realize the time change this time around," Zaven said in a groan, "My mom wasn't too pleased the last time you called."

I couldn't help but bust out laughing; the last time I had to go on assignment, I was sent to China and forgot the eleven or so hour difference and ended up calling her at three in the morning, "I wont forget," I said, still laughing as we said our goodbyes and I hung up, placing the phone back in it's holder on my belt.

"So, we're going where to do what now?" I asked, tuning my attention to my father as he cracked a smile, knowing damn well that he never told me much of anything except 'get packed, we're leaving in the morning'.

"Pete's sending us to Germany," he said, looking at me momentarily, I assumed to see my reaction, before turning his attention back to the road, "there's a chain of artifacts that are to be sent to America and they asked The Phoenix Foundation to make sure they made it there without any trouble."

I sighed softly, knowing that my father could handle this assignment on his own without any trouble, "And I'm coming because?" I asked, using what my father and starting calling my teenage snob tone.

"Because it's your job," he replied, rolling his eyes, "you do realize that it's only for a couple of days—four maximum, right?" he asked, looking at me while I nodded.

"I know," I replied simply knowing what he was getting at as I brought my attention to the back of the jeep. I had one suitcase of clothes, my laptop case, and a book bag with personal items that ranged from a hair brush to my diary/journal, while he only had a book bag of clothes.

"I don't see why you bought that thing," he said as I groaned in annoyance, hearing this for the hundredth time since I had bought it, knowing that he was referring to my laptop.

"Because I wanted it and had the money for it," I replied. I had been working odd jobs ever since I was fourteen and never went out, so I managed to save up a lot of money over the years.

"But it's not like you need it," he protested. I knew that my father loved technology as much as the next guy, just not enough to go out and buy a laptop and accessories that came to a grand total of three thousand five hundred dollars—and that's American dollars!

"Yes dad, I know," I said, leaving it at that before I got him on his tangent of how I should have gone to university and gotten a better job. Little did he know the last thing I wanted was to go back to school, where I wouldn't fit in and I'd have to go to hell and back all over again, when I had a well paying job that allowed me to see the world?

Most people would be impressed with the sights that Germany had to offer, but I had seen it all before and only wanted to get into the hotel room and relax. I had been taken there once when I was five. My father had to go on assignment and couldn't find a babysitter, so I was brought along and left in the hotel room with a good friend of his while he did his assignment, then took the next couple of to hang out with me and show me the sights. I couldn't help but smile as the memories of that trip, and a lot of others like it, came flooding back. I would miss school all the time to go with him around the world, Germany, China, Japan, Australia, which was great. Pete set it up to have all homework sent to The Phoenix Foundation, where he would then fax it to me so I wouldn't fall behind—he was a great guy that soon became as close to me as he was with my father (and get your minds out of the gutter, he and my father are strictly friends, no more!)

The hotel room was the same as every other one I had been in on these trips, but little did I know at the time, this one was going to start the dominos falling in a way that I could have never thought!

I was sitting on the bed, laptop in my lap, as my father began to walk around, calling the office to tell them that we had made it like he always did before going out to relax and get a drink with old friends while I either slept or chatted online with Zaven and Arie, another good friend of mine from high school.

"I'll be back in a few hours, Lex," he said as he grabbed his jacket, which I didn't understand considering that it was the middle of summer, but now that I think about it, he never seemed to leave with it.

"I'll be here," I called back, replying to Zaven's chat message as I waved at him over my shoulder. I heard the door close and returned my attention back to my computer screen fully.

This was the first time that something had felt off, the first time that I felt different, but at the time I shook it off, blaming the jetlag from the trip and continued to type. After a moment or two of ignoring the nagging feeling and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I told my friends that I would get back to them when I could and stood up, going to the window, cracking it opening with the intention of getting some fresh air.

I felt suddenly warm, taking off the sweater that I had had on and tossed it aside, leaving me in only my tank top, which rested a good four or five inches above my belt. I felt cooler, but not better. It was strange, trips never affected me like this, and yet, I couldn't piece together what my problem was. I walked away from the window and over towards the bathroom, splashing cold water in my face before grabbing a towel and taking a deep breath. I felt like I was either going to be sick or was going to pass out, neither of which was any good, and decided then that I should go an lay down. Turning around to head back into the main room, something caught my eye, a mark on my lower back reflected into the full length mirror behind me.

It looked strange, a couple of lines and circles all mixed together into some kind of symbol…wait a damn minute! Mark? I don't have a mark on my back. I ran a hand across it, feeling the heat and burning sensation that followed, causing me to pull away quickly, the only explanation coming to mind was a tattoo? I didn't get a tattoo! My father would have killed me.

None of this was making any sense and the more I thought about it the more I began to feel sick, and soon enough I had to lie down. I did just that, falling onto my stomach on the bed and pass out immediately, not even having enough time to kick off my shoes.

I woke up a couple of hours or so later and groaned in pain as I rolled over onto my back, knowing that my father couldn't have returned yet because I hadn't been moved. I sat up slowly, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach, like I may throw up or something. I stood up slowly, thank god, and walked over to the open window and began to think of what had just happened. Had I eaten something that didn't agree with me, or was it simply a cold or flu? The tattoo! The thought came back to me so suddenly that I was sure that if it hadn't been only that, a thought, it would have knocked me over into the corner.

I ran as fast as I could to the bathroom and looked at my back in the mirror, seeing the symbol on my back as clear as day. The blue lines and red circles mixed together made a cool design, and I had to admit that if I had thought of it first I would have probably would have gotten the tattoo someday, but the fact that it just appeared out of nowhere and I kept feeling sick was so not cool!

I returned to the main room and grabbed my sweater, pulling it on just as I heard the door open, my father coming into the room with the smile that I knew would be planted on his lips, "So you hungry soldier?" he asked causing me to spin around in a gasp, thanking god that I had managed to cover he strange tattoo before he came in.

"Uh…" I stammered, kicking myself mentally for sounding so obvious, "Yeah, sure, where too?" I managed to chock out as my laptop beeped, telling me that I had mail.

My father started to ramble on as I crawled across the bed and reached for my laptop, checking my inbox to seeing a message appear that had no return address or subject. Strange, I thought, opening it as the sound of my father's voice suddenly faded out as my attention went fully to the message, the symbol that had mysteriously shown up on my back appeared in the center of the screen and a message typed in white across the front of it said 'You are Ready'.

I gasped again and slammed down the top of the laptop until I heard it click closed, then turned my attention to my father who was looking at me curiously. "What do you say about getting out of here?" I asked, standing slowly, staying close to the bed until I was sure that I wasn't going to fall back down, suddenly dizzy for no apparent reason, "I think I'm going to lose my mind if I stay here much longer," I added, my father not knowing how close to the truth that statement was.

"Let's go," he said hesitantly, motioning to the door as he eyed me curiously. I, on the other hand, didn't hesitate in the least and practically ran out of the room, my father following closely, locking the door behind him as I felt his gaze burn a hold in the back of my head. Great, now he was on to me—and you have to trust me, my father is very perceptive! I'm talking about a man that has solved more riddles then anyone else I know. He can figure his way out of any mess and was the first to know when I've done something wrong, hiding this wasn't going to be easy.

"So where too?" I asked for the second time in the ten minutes that we had been talking, this time, trying my hardest to keep my mind focused on his response and not the sick feeling that I could now place as nerves and not a simple cold or virus.

"Anywhere that serves food sounds good to me," he said, looking at me curiously from the corner of his eye, which I caught out of the corner of mine before I brought my attention to my feet fully, letting my brown bangs fall into my eyes.

"Sounds good," I replied, suddenly worried about what all this could mean. I couldn't help but feel like I was in some television show, where everything falls apart and then turns out the be the best thing that would happen to me, but deep down I knew that this wasn't going to be so simple. I wasn't Clark Kent and I wasn't a super hero, I was a regular teenage girl that had caught a break, gotten a good job with her father, and now worked her butt off to stay ahead, being the youngest worker in a place isn't easy. None of this was making any sense to me and I was now dealing with the sick feeling in my stomach and now a major headache!

I was thinking and had managed to space out again, not hearing his comment about some restaurant that we had been walking past. I had completely forgotten about it all until I felt his hand on my shoulder, causing me to shoot my attention to him so violently that it had made my head spin and my stomach flip again.

"What was that?" I asked, watching as my spinning vision steadied itself and I could see the worried look that was etched on my father's face and in his eyes clearly.

"Are you sure that you are alright?" he asked as he squeezed my shoulder slightly. I nodded slowly, bringing my eyes back down to the ground at my feet and continued to walk.

"Yeah, dad, I'm fine," I said, lying through my teen. Why couldn't I tell him was had happened? Why did I feel like I had to hide it? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't ask for this, so why did I suddenly feel like I was at fault, like I had asked for all of this and like he would be mad at me for it?

"You sure baby?" he pressed and I thought right then that it was my chance to tell him, but I couldn't get the words to pass my lips—as a matter of fact, I couldn't get an words past my lips and all I could do was nod as we headed into the next restaurant that we had came across and grabbed a seat at a table.

The burning in my back had gotten more and more painful as the day went on, so much so that I couldn't even sit back during dinner and I found it harder and harder to walk as the night went on. I felt sick to my stomach as every movement I caused my stomach to do back flips and cartwheels, and on top of it all, I had been lying to my father all day, which wasn't helping the feeling any, and by the time we got back to the hotel all I wanted to do was sleep.

The night wasn't any easier. I couldn't lay on my back because of the burning and pain that it shot up my spin but every time I would lay on my stomach it would cause my stomach to flip and would give me the feeling that I was going to be sick. I didn't know what this was, or how to make it stop, but all I knew was that if I didn't figure it out soon it would kill me, if not from the pain, then from the lack of sleep. I had given up on sleeping around two in the morning and had sat up, looking at the wall ahead of me as my mind raced in search for a solution.

The thought of just throwing up and getting it over with had crossed my mind several times throughout the next hour or so, but I voted against it when I thought of the noise it would cause, I didn't want to wake up my father. I then thought of getting up and researching the mark on the internet, god only knew what you were capable of finding on there, but soon decided not to when I moved to retrieve my laptop and almost cried out in pain, slamming a hand over my mouth, which hurt just as much as my lips and cheek began to sting. I groaned, rolling my eyes in aggravation, suddenly angry at myself for doing something so stupid. It was getting worst, and unless I was capable of figuring this out by morning, I would have to tell my father to explain why I wouldn't be joining him on the assignment.

It was enough to drive me crazy, and soon enough, it did, causing me to sob silently as I fell back onto the bed, not caring about the pain anymore as I closed my eyes and forced my body to relax instead of fighting against me to sit up and try and stop the pain. I curse lowly, feeling the burning grow even more until I was sure that I was on fire and I couldn't help but cry, this time making more noise then I had intended, but didn't care.

I heard my father stir in his sleep; being a parent he heard every noise in the night, even if he didn't want to, so I slowed my breathing down to the best of my abilities and closed my eyes in hopes that I would either fall asleep or just die!

When I awoke the next morning I knew that I hadn't died and that I had just fallen asleep. I could feel the heat from the sun on my face and groan in annoyance as I rolled over, whimpering in pain as the burning sensation went up my spin to attack, what I was sure was, my brain, causing my ears to ring in the process. I didn't dare open my eyes, knowing that if my father knew that I was awake he'd ask me to come along to see the artifacts and I'd either have to tell him the truth or move, neither of which I wanted to do at this point.

I could hear the sound of my own breathing, and realized suddenly that it was far to quiet in the room for someone else to be in there with me, so slowly, I opened my eyes, cobalt blue orbs scanning the room to find it empty. I sighed in relief before forcing myself to sit up and look around, seeing a note on the end table between the beds.

_Gone to the museum to see the artifacts, _

_I'll be back as soon as I can and we'll go_

_out to eat. Don't wander to far and your_

_computer was beeping this morning._

_Love, Dad_

I thanked God silently that he had left me to sleep in and stood up slowly, heading to the bathroom to get a glass of water and to check my burning back. Once the water passed my lips I had regretted taking in my mouth and spit it into the sink with a moan of disgust as my stomach went back to its old tricks, flipping and cart wheeling just to spite me. I then placed the glass in the sink and looked over my shoulder to see the tattooed mark on my back had gone from its original blue and red colors to black and red—looking more evil then before. I groaned in annoyance and wet a cloth with cold water in hopes that maybe it would help the burning sensation that was running through my body.

I returned to the main room, sitting up in bed with the cloth placed between me and the head board as I pulled my laptop in my lap and turned the power on, hearing the beeping that my father had been talking about, seeing that it was signaling a low battery. With a sigh of relief thankful that it wasn't another message, I plugged it into the wall and went online to talk to Zaven.

"Hey Zaven," I typed, thanking God silently as she typed back.

"Hey, how's Germany?"

"Not bad," I lied, deciding as another shot of pain ran down my spin that maybe I should ask her about the strange symbol, "Hey, listen," I typed hesitant to continue, but did none the less, "What do you think about this symbol?" I asked, sending her the file that I had received last night.

"Totally cool," she typed back after a moment or two, "it's a symbol that means something I'm sure—hold on I'll ask David." David was Zaven's older brother, very bright, and loved ancient symbols and calligraphy. I smiled to myself, if anyone would know what it meant, it would be him—he studied it in school for crying out loud.

"Well," I asked, suddenly impatient.

"It means 'gifted one' in some kind of tribal symbol," she replied, "Why, thinking of getting marked?"

"No, not really," I replied, not really lying—I hadn't planed on it, "Got anything else on it?"

"Not right now, but I'll ask David to work on it."

"Thanks Zave," I replied, "Gtg (got to go in internet slang)."

"Yeah, np Lex (more slang that means no problem)," she replied back and we both logged off.

I couldn't tell if the cold cloth was helping or not, but I kind of felt better knowing what the symbol meant, but where did it come from, and why me? I wasn't gifted my any means! I graduated like everyone else my age, got a job because of my father's connections and managed to keep it because I was hard working and stubborn. Why was I suddenly so special?

I made a last minute decision to look the symbol up on the internet; I figured that if David knew about it then there had to be some information on it somewhere else. Finding what I needed was simple enough, but understanding the information was a completely other story.

It seems, from what I could gather that the symbol was used in ancient Greece sometime ago. The man and/or woman that the tribe thought to be gifted or thought to be super natural would get this mark tattooed on them by the age of eighteen. The symbol was then passed down through the generations of the gifted person's family tree in hopes that the tribe would always be protected from evil spirits and other such things. I was no genius on the matter, but I did know that there is no such thing as evil spirits, only evil people, therefore their reasoning were unintelligent and not logical, but it was reasonable for people back in those days.

Ok, so now I had the background, but why me? This was just a myth, a fairy tale so to speak, but, then how did it end up tattooed on my back? Is it possible that this story was true, and that somehow I was related to someone that fell under this gifted category?

No way! I shook my head violently, pushing my laptop aside and sat up fully, letting the cloth fall to the bed behind me.

"This is crazy!" I said out loud, standing up and began to pace the floor, then stopped when I realized that my back wasn't burning anymore. A placed a hand on my back, feeling my soft skin not scared and not damaged in the least. Heading back to the bathroom, I noticed the marking was still there, only now it seemed set—there forever, in its dark blood red and black colors.

With a sigh I headed back into the hotel room just as my father came into the room, smiling at me from the doorway, "You're up, are you?" he asked, eyeing me curiously.

"Huh, yeah," I replied, pulling my shirt down so that it covered my back, "let me get dressed in some fresh clothes and we can head out," I said, grabbing a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top, heading into the bathroom to get changed into the clothes.

It was strange how the mark didn't hurt anymore, not even a little, which made me come to the conclusion that the pain was only there while the tattoo settled itself. Thankful that I was capable of walking without looking like I was ninety years old and had thrown my back out, I threw on the clothes and headed out onto the street, grabbing my jean jacket on the way out.

"You seem better this morning," my father said as he looked at me, eyeing me as I continued to walk, hands in my jacket pockets.

"I'm fine," I said, capable of being honest for the first time in two days, "So how are the artifacts?" I asked, bringing up a new topic before he brought up last night.

"Oh there fine, rather old, and ready for shipment tonight," he said, placing a hand on my back as he lead me towards the entrance of a building, "Speaking of which, I have to go and talk with someone before we go out ad eat."

I nodded and followed him, pulling down the collar on the bright pink jean jacket and adjusted it so that I was presentable—considering that I was in a bright pink jacket, baby blue tank top and dark blue jeans. I was in the middle of pulling my hair back so that it wouldn't be in my eyes when a man came into the lobby area and greeted us.

"Hello Mr…" he hesitated and I couldn't help but giggle softly as he struggled to find the right words. No one knew my father's first name, and it was the way that he liked it—who could blame him with a name like Angus?

"MacGyver," he said, seeing the man squirm. I smiled, placing the clip in place to hold my hair back as he turned to me.

"And you are?" he said, his tone suddenly unenthusiastic as his green eyes met up with my dark blue gaze.

"My name is Alex MacGyver," I said, trying to keep my tone as polite as possible, considering I hated the way that he was looking at me, "his daughter," I added, pointing my thumb in his direction, sending him a smug look but soon dropped it before my father noticed.

"Ah, yes, of course," he said, glaring at me momentarily before turning to my father, "I apologize, but we don't like having teenagers in the museum, they always cause us trouble."

I hated being judged because of my age, clothes, looks, or grades. That's all high school was, a big contest and being judge was a big part of it, a part I hated, and I hated it even more when it came from an adult. I snorted lowly, "Don't judge a book by its cover," I said, glaring at the man for a moment before dropping the look as I turned to my father, smiling softly. "I'll meet you later, at the restaurant," I said, turning my back on him and began to walk out of the building, "take your time."

I hated people who were ignorant, and hated it even more when people automatically assumed I was a tyrant because I was only a teenager. I worked hard for what I've got and it burned me up when someone judged me.

I had learned a lot of things from my father, one of which was patients. I hated the fact that I was so polite sometimes, but there wasn't much I could do; it was how I was raised. I guessed a lot of the time about stuff, whether or not someone liked or disliked me and whether or not I was in my right mind to talk back to them. In this case, I thought it best to just walk away and let my father handle the bastard before I lost my temper and blew this deal out of the water.

I took a long walk, taking my time to get to the restaurant this time, this being the first time since I had gotten there that I felt up to walking around and moving about. It was great, finally feeling back to normal, except I knew that it wasn't that easy and I still had to figure out where the tattoo came from, and why it decided to make its appearance now. I knew that it was far from over, but figured that it could wait until I got back home—boy was I ever wrong!

I was just outside of the restaurant when someone was yelling, a small child, as a man grabbed her roughly and began to pull her down the street. I wasn't sure of the circumstances, but I had a feeling that this just wasn't right, so I followed in hot pursuit and ran down after them. I always seemed to be a step behind them, and the more we ran, the harder the child began to cry.

"Hey, stop!" I yelled at them and watched as the man glare back at me, a glare that I didn't appreciate nor did I want to see again. Now I knew that something wasn't right and that that little girl didn't belong with him. "Stop!" I yelled again, but this time the man picked up the child and took off running. "No!"

I had regretted saying the words the minute they left my mouth as the burning sensation returned to my back and I cried out in surprise and in pain. I felt the burning sensation go from my back to my out stretched hand, running up my arm, through the palm of my hand, and to the tips of my fingers. Just then, when I thought that the pain had become too much to bare, I saw a bright blue light shoot from my finger tips to hit the man in the back, sending him forward, stumbling as he dropped the child and fell to the ground.

I gasped, hitting my knees as a woman scooped up the crying child and cradled her closely, walking away as the man scrambled to his feet and ran off. I was in a great deal of pain, the burning sensation still in my back, arm, hand, and fingers. It hurt like hell and I couldn't hold back the urge to cry, feeling tears roll down my cheeks as I clutched my arm, curling up into a tight ball on my knees on the sidewalk.

I could hear my father's voice calling to me, but I didn't care. My vision was going black and I could breath anymore, I was going to pass out and I couldn't figure out what had just happened. The blue light was gone, and now I wasn't even sure if it was a light that I had seen or if I was loosing my mind. I couldn't have had blue light coming from my fingers; the people around me hadn't screamed or even reacted in the least. I was loosing my mind! That was it, I was loosing my mind and now I was going to die.

"Alex," he said, placing a hand on my back as he knelt down to my level, "Alex are you alright?" he asked as he pulled me into a hug, causing me more pain as I placed my head on his shoulder, but I didn't care. My fingers felt like they were on fire and all I wanted to do was die, but with my father's tight grip on me all I could do was cry out of fear and pain. My vision was completely black now, and I couldn't hear his voice anymore, all I could feel was the burning of fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.**

**Chapter 2**

I woke up in a hospital bed, not the best place, but it was better than on the street or not waking up at all. I groaned in pain, the burning now only a slight smoldering, as I opened by blue eyes to meet up with the brown gaze looking down on me. My father was sitting by my side, like I knew he would be, and was looking down on me, his eyes showing the relief that he was feeling. All I wanted to do was close my eyes again and fall back asleep, but I knew if I did that my father would panic and I would be causing him more pain, something I didn't want to do.

I felt his hand brush my hair out of my eyes gently, and for the first time in my life, his touch actually cause me more pain. I moan softly, although I regretted doing it the moment it happened as he pulled away, sighing softly as our eyes met again. I opened my mouth to speak to him, but found that I couldn't get the words to pass my lips, the sound only more whispers and groans.

"Shh," my father said gently, gripping my hand, "you need to rest," he added as he placed a hand on my forehead, sliding it down after a moment to cup my cheek, "your fever has broke."

"W-what…" I took in a rattled breath as I attempted to continue the sentence, "h-h-happened?" I chocked out, feeling the feeling of my father's hand gripping mine gently.

"Someone was kidnapping a child," he said gently, "the doctors aren't sure what happened with you, but they do know that someone pushed him down, causing him to release the child," he replied, reading the look of confusion that had come across my face.

I remembered what had happened clearly, no one else was near the man, and no one had pushed him. "T-that can't…be…" I gasped out, closing my eyes momentarily before forcing them back open, "N-no…one touch…" I couldn't finish the sentence, the weight on my chest making it hard for me to breathe, never mind speak in full sentences.

"Take it easy, Alexis," he said, cupping my cheek gently again. I sighed; he only called me by my full name when he was worried sick about something. The last time he had said it was when I was three and I had disobeyed him and had been playing to close to the docks edge. Long story short, I didn't know how to swim and when my ball fell into the water, I thought that I could just walk in and get it. "People saw what happened," he continued, making me snap out of my trip down memory lane to look at him, "they told the police everything, how you tried to help, but couldn't because you got sick—how he was pushed."

"H-he wasn't…pushed…" I rasped closing my eyes tightly as the weight on my chest began heavier as I spoke.

"No one saw him get pushed," he admitted, "they saw him fall and the bruised hand print on his back told the rest of the story."

Bruised hand print? That couldn't be, the only thing that had touched him was the blue light that had exited from my hand, but no one saw that? How could they not have? It was bright a bright blue light that came from the tips of my fingers and had traveled a good ten feet to reach him and knock him down! Okay, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe I'm the one losing my mind and maybe I just saw something that wasn't there, maybe I missed the person that I had pushed him down like everyone one else?

"Dad…" I whispered leaving my eyes closed this time as I could feel myself being to fall unconscious, "I-it…hu-urts…" I groaned out, gripping his hand tightly, feeling him squeeze back gently.

"Rest Alexis," he said, running a hand through my hair soothingly, "I've called Pete and the assignment has been pushed until you are both up and about or well enough to ship back to America." Well enough? Was it really that bad? Was I going to die over something that no one was capable of explaining?

"W-what's…wrong…" I took in another rattled breath, feeling my father kiss my cheek gently, "…w-with…m-m-e?" I don't remember hearing his response now, only feeling more and more relaxed as I fell back asleep and got some rest.

The next time I woke up I felt I little better, the burning sensation gone completely and the weight on my chest had gone from that of an adult to that of a child. I could still feel my father's grip on my hand and I knew that he hadn't moved from that position since we had arrived here, how ever long ago that might have been. I opened my eyes slowly and hesitantly, bringing my eyes to my hand to see my father fast asleep, head resting on the bed as he knelt by my bedside.

I suddenly felt guilty for putting him through this. Had I only told him when this all starting he wouldn't be so worried about me now, he wouldn't have falling asleep and wouldn't be so tiered now. He was so worried, and it was my entire fault.

I reached out, running my fingers through his hair gently in an attempt to wake his up. I felt his grip on my hand tighten as he stirred awake, bringing his eyes to mine as I sat up with a smile.

"I hope you didn't sleep like that all night," I said, voice soft as I brought my attention to him fully, watching as he shook his head.

"How are you feeling this morning," he asked as he stood up, his back cracking as he tried to stretch the stiffness from his neck. I shrugged, kicking my feet over the edge of the bed as I also stretched.

"I feel fine now," I replied, not mentioning the weight that remained on my chest, "Strange though, how I suddenly became so ill."

"It's beyond strange," he said, turning around to face me as I grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt that I assumed that my father had brought from the hotel room.

"I don't think that you should move yet, Lex," he said, placing a hand on each shoulder as he pushed me back down into a laying position, clothes in hand.

I smiled back up at him, hearing him call me Lex instead of Alexis; now I knew that I was going to be alright, for the time being.

I was aloud to leave the hospital that afternoon, after two doctors and three nurses all came up with the same conclusion; that they didn't know what was wrong with me. I had a good idea that it had something to do with that tattoo, and decided since my father wouldn't let me leave the hotel room for the rest of the day, that I would check it out on my lap top and talk to Zaven to see if her brother, David, had gotten any more information on it.

My father had gone through a lot of things, being shot, attacked with a blow torch, hanged, stuck in a sinking submarine, and was thrown from a third story window to crash land on a car, but he still fell apart at the thought of me being hurt. I found it absolutely hilarious, but he was a wreck for the rest of this assignment, which included going to the museum, packing the artifacts, shipping them, and returning home.

Zaven's birthday was in two days, plenty of time to rest up and stuff before pulling an all-nighter with her and Arie. I had managed to pick up her birthday gift while in Germany, so that saved me lots of time and money, considering that the outfit only cost me twenty five or so dollars, a cute Minnie-skirt and shirt combo that I knew she'd like. My father had insisted on taking away my laptop while in Germany so that I would rest, locking it in his night table while he was gone, so I had to wait until I got home to talk to Zaven about the strange symbol.

"Well, according to David, the symbol was used in ancient Greece, symbolizing a special person," she said as she came into the door of the small two bedroom apartment, kicked off her shoes and hung up her jacket. "He said that people in those times that were considered gifted would be branded with that mark, which FYI hurt like hell," she added as she came over and sat down next to me on the couch. Burned huh? Well that explained why it hurt so much the day that it appeared on me—it was like being branded!

I had had my laptop open, sitting in my lap, but had placed it on the coffee table when I heard her knock on the door, "Anything else?" I asked, turning my attention to her as I shut the lid on the laptop closed with a click, "Like what these so call powers were?"

She thought momentarily, "Well he did mention something about telekinesis," she said suddenly, "why the sudden interest, Lex?"

I sighed, not sure at this point if I should tell her or not. I wasn't even sure if I believed it yet, but I knew that something was up, and maybe this blue light was a way of controlling objects. Use the light as a hand, and then, once control was established, I would be capable of moving objects, and even people—if I believed all of this in the first place.

"I'm just curious," I said, grabbing the remote to the television and tossed it to her, "Pick a Galaxy station," I said, wanting to put some music on while my father was out of the house and I could get away with it, "Station 900 and up," I added—God I loved having satellite.

She did just that, placing it on channel 906, hit list, and turned her attention back to me as she placed the remote back down on the table, "Lex, what are you hiding?" she asked, turning around to face me as I walked into the kitchen to get something to drink out of the fridge.

I sighed again, pouring a glass of orange juice, placing the jug back into the fridge before I turned to face her, bringing the glass to my lips. I took a sip, swallowing the liquid slowly before bringing the glass back down, "Do you really want to know?"

That was the question now wasn't it? Did she want to know, did I want to tell her, would she believe me? All good points and again, something I wasn't sure that I wanted to go into detail in; considering, I didn't even know all the answers yet.

Like every good friend, Zaven wanted to know, and I managed to gather myself long enough to sit down with my orange juice and tell her what I knew. I started with the first night, how the pain from the burning had caused me to pass out, how I found the strange tattoo a couple of hours later, how the burning persisted, then the story about the kidnapper outside the restaurant and the blue light.

By the end of it I was pretty sure that she thought that I had lost my mind, and I was almost positive that she was about to sign me up to go to the insane asylum just as soon as she found someone to sign with her, it taking two signatures to commit someone. She looked at me blankly for some time, long enough for me to finish my drink before she said something.

"You have got to be kidding me?" she said, simply, tone still that of a non-believer. I couldn't blame her, I wasn't even sure that I believed it yet, but what other explanation was there?

"I'm not," I said, turning my back to her as I lifted my shirt and showed her the tattoo, "Would I have done this to myself?" I demanded, suddenly frustrated with the situation in general.

"Well is your father Greek?" she asked as I pulled down my top and turned around to look at her, seeing the astonished look on her face.

"No," I replied, "he's Scottish."

"Your mother then?" she asked. I opened my mouth to shoot down her idea when I suddenly realized that she could be right. I never knew my mother and it was possible that she was one of these gifted people and I got it from her. Great, the one thing that she gives me and it could kill me at this rate.

"It's possible," I admitted, voice low, "I don't know anything anymore."

Zaven had stood up long ago, but with my mind on this problem of mine I hadn't noticed until I looked up from my feet and saw that she wasn't still sitting in front of me and had now begun to pace the floor like I had many time this past couple of days.

"Have you told your father?" she asked as she stopped momentarily to look out of the living room window. I shook my head, but soon realized that she hadn't seen it and voiced my answer.

"No, not yet," I said, "I don't know if I should," I added as I stood, joining my friend by the window, looking out onto the water. I loved the water, once I learned to swim in it of course, and my father had picked out this apartment especially because of the view. The morning sunrise or night sunset's were so beautiful, and the way it reflected off of it was the best—in my opinion.

"Lex, come one," Zaven said, turning to face me, "you have to tell your dad," she pressed, watching me as my expression changed. I tried not to show her the fear that I felt, but couldn't help it, I was really scared!

"Maybe you're right," I said lowly, bringing my eyes to my feet as I heard my father come into the house via the front door and kick his shoes off. He pulled his jacket off as I turned around and faced him, smiling softly, "Hey dad."

Zaven spun around, also smiling as my father hung up his jacket on a hook by the front door and looked at me curiously. "Lex, you seem nervous, is everything alright?" he asked. Damn his perceptiveness!

"Yeah," I said, turning to Zaven, "I was just talking with Zaven about some stuff and we were just going to go to the mall," I said, Zaven nodding in agreement—got to love best friend telepathic abilities!

"Well, I want you back at ten thirty," he said eyeing me as I walked past him and grabbed my jacket and shoes, "you still need to rest up from that trip, and you know our deal about Zaven's party?" he said, grabbing my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.

I knew what he was getting at, we had a long talk about this whole Germany thing, about how me suddenly falling sick, how he didn't think that it was nothing, and that he wanted me to take it easy until he was sure that I was alright. He didn't even want me to go to Zaven's birthday, but since I promised and refused to just not show up, so we came to the conclusion that I could go to her party if I took it easy until then.

"Yes dad," I said gently, flashing a fake smile before slipping my shoes on, "I know, and I'll be back by ten thirty, I promise," I added. I felt his grip loosen and I pulled my jacket on before walking out of the house and headed down the stairs at the front of the house.

I could hear Zaven running up behind me to catch up, and felt her grip on my arm when she did.

"I thought that you were going to tell him," she said, hauling me back to be in step with her, "what happened?"

"I couldn't do it," I chocked out, putting my hands in my pockets before they began to shake fiercely, feeling a pack of gum in one pocket and my house key in the other, "I just couldn't do it, what if he thinks I'm stupid or insane?" I began to panic, feeling sick to my stomach and dizzy. "What if he thinks I'm lying," I said, and began to hipper ventilate, "What if he commits me?"

"Lex, calm down," Zaven said, and I suddenly felt her hand on my back, "he's your father and he won't commit you!" I wanted to listen to her, believe her even, but I just couldn't. I was scared, terrified, and all I could do was think of what my father would do if he found out. I couldn't breath and my head was spinning.

The next thing I knew my knees were touching the cement sidewalk and I couldn't breathe, Zaven was by my side and I heard her call to my father as my back began to burn uncontrollably.

"No, Zave," I rasped, "don't call him!"

"Hush!" she snapped back as I heard the front door slam shut and could hear my father calling my name as he ran down the stairs.

I was struggling to breathe by this point and knew that soon enough the feeling would go away. I could feel tears leaking down my cheeks as I swallowed back the lump that had jumped up into my throat. The burning had begun to move up my back slowly, which caused me to cry out in pain as my father reached my side and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Alexis," he said, and I groaned, but not because of the pain, because I knew that nothing good could follow him calling me by my full name. I began to wonder what was different about the pain this time in comparison to the other time with the kidnapper. I couldn't think of anything except the fact that it was slower going this time; it was so much quicker last time. What did I do differently? How could I get this over with?

"I'm…fine…" I rasped out, crying softly as I forced the feeling of my heart beating in my throat.

"No, you aren't!" he snapped, touching my cheek gently, "Your fever is back," he whispered under his breath.

I looked out on the horizon as my vision began to blacken, this time, realizing what was different; my hand wasn't extended, the burning wouldn't stop because the blue light had no where to go!

I extended my hand outwards, reaching for the garbage can and the end of the driveway in hopes that the burning would travel up my arm and into my fingers like last time. The burning feel began to move silently but slowly up my arm and I cried out as it went into my fingers. The blue light exited my fingers with a sudden blast and hit into the garbage can, wrapping around it slowly. I closed my hand, hoping that the pain would stop, but it didn't. Instead, by closing my hand, it made the grip on the garbage can tighter and as I jerked my hand away to hug my father, the garbage can flew across the street into our neighbors' yard.

My vision went black as my father gasped, holding me tightly and the burning flared and I cried out in pain, blacking out completely.

I woke up in a couple of hours, I guess, to my father dabbing a cloth over my cheeks and facial features. Again, just like the first time, my hand was burning with such a force that it hurt to even move my fingers, and the pressure on my chest had returned to that of an adult, making it hard to breathe or speak. I opened my mouth, whispering softly to get my fathers attention, but soon stopped myself as I heard Zaven's voice, which explained why his attention wasn't on me and was to something—or in this case, someone—behind he.

"I don't think I should say anything Mr. MacGyver," she was saying, and I breathed a sigh of relief, only to have my hopes dashed as she continued, "But I do think that you should know."

"She is my daughter," he said and I moaned in pain as I struggled to speak to protest her, but couldn't manage it. I felt my father's other hand grip mine, which made me gasp in pain as he continued to try and break the fever that had its claws stuck into me fiercely.

"Is Lex's mother Greek?" she asked, sticking just outside the boundary lines of the secret. I groaned as I struggled to speak, make a sound of some kind, anything that would stop her from continuing this conversation.

"Hush, Alex," he said sternly leaving his attention on me as he wiped the cloth across my forehead, "As a matter of fact, Zaven, she was," he said after a moment.

"No…Zaven," I rasped out, breathing choppy and irregular as I struggled to get a grip on myself, "please…" I begged, gripping my father's shirt sleeve tightly for a lack of a better thing to hold on to. I could feel the weight return to my chest, making it extremely hard to breathe.

I watched as Zaven sighed, my father hushing me again before placing the cloth on my forehead and turning his attention to her fully, pivoting in his seat, "What does the fact of her mother have to do with anything?" he asked as I pulled on his sleeve, trying to get his attention away from her.

"Well," Zaven stammered as I slammed my eyes closed, my chest so heavy and my back and hand burning with such a force that I thought that I was going to suddenly be sick to my stomach, "you see, there is something that you have to know and I don't think that I can explain it properly," she said, again, staying just on the line.

I sighed, not sure if I was in the clear or not, but knew that all I could do now was fight for air and hope to god that Zaven could keep her mouth shut until I was capable of making full sentences once again.

I hated being so helpless, so weak, but after one of my episodes it was hard for me not to be. It hurt so much and all I wanted to do was cry, but didn't dare, knowing that that wouldn't help my current situation; I was having enough trouble breathing as it was, the last thing I needed was to get chocked up on sobs. So instead, I gripped my father's sleeve or hand and waited to either pass out or for it to pass.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.**

**Chapter 3**

I woke up a couple of days later in my room, instead of the couch where I had woken up the first time. I could hear my father in the next room, my door being open, typing on my lap top. I sighed, feeling that the pressure had been relieved and the pain was no longer unbearable. I sat up slowly, feeling a little dizzy, but no worst for wear and threw my legs over the edge of my bed, placing them firmly on the floor and waited a little longer before I even attempted to stand on them. I stood still for a moment and once I deemed it safe, I walked out of my room and into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with my father and got a glass out of the cupboard.

"Nice to see you up," he said as I grabbed the pitcher of orange juice from the fridge, not wanted to test my stomach to try and put cola into it, and poured myself a glass.

"It's nice to be up," I said, keeping my mouth shut about this entire situation until I knew exactly what Zaven had told him. I returned the pitcher to its respectable place in the fridge and turned around to see the back of my father's head as I took a sip from the glass.

"You going to tell me what's going on or do I really have to ask you?" he said suddenly, which actually startled me and caused me to gag on my orange juice.

"You just did, didn't you?" I replied once I managed to swallow the juice and not inhale it.

"Not directly," he shot back as he turned around to face me and motioned for me to grab a seat across from him in the rocking chair, "So will you start with what just happen outside a couple of days ago, or the time it happened in Germany?" he demanded.

I sat down slowly, the glass still in my hand, gripped tighter than I had originally intended but I couldn't help it. This was the first time that I actually couldn't read my father's expression or tone, the first time that I was in the dark about what he was thinking or feeling and it scared me to think.

"How did you know that it happened in Germany?" I demanded, "I could have just been sick then," I said, taking another sip.

"Same symptoms except this time you attacked a garbage can and not a kidnapper," he said, bringing his eyes to me instead of the computer screen in front of him.

"I didn't attack anyone or anything!" I said, suddenly angry. How dare he say that I had attacked them? I did no such thing! The first time it happened, I had no damned control over it and didn't even know what had happened, never mind attacking someone—which has to be done intentionally. As for the garbage can, it had it coming! I hated that ugly thing from day one and it just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Alright, then start talking and explain it to me, Lexa," he said, his voice still detached. The only thing that I could read off of him was the look of worry that had cross his eyes at that moment, followed closely with a look of hurt. I had never lied to my father and I used to tell him everything, but this was different.

"So it started in Germany," I admitted, taking another small sip as I waited to see his expression, which hadn't changed, "I don't know what it is, all I know is that after this tattoo thing burned its way onto my back I have had this episodes that cause damage…" he cut me off suddenly, eyes wide.

"Tattoo thing? Burned?" he asked, "what tattoo thing?"

I sighed as I stood and placed the glass on the table. I turned around and lifted my shirt high enough to reveal my new branded mark, "This tattoo thing," I said and then turned back around to face him. "It's hard to explain," I said, feeling my eyes begin to water, but I pushed back the urge to cry all together, "when I get upset my lower back where the tattoo is starts to burn like hell, and then it moves up my back, down my arm, and out of my hand as a blue light, that apparently, only I can see…" I trailed off again as I felt the lump in my throat rise again and I thought that my voice may crack.

My father stood up and walked over to me, "Why didn't you just tell me?" he said gently, "I may have been able to help."

"What was I suppose to say?" I demanded, this time my voice cracking as tears formed in the corners of my eyes and began to stream down my cheeks to drip to the floor at our feet, "Dad, I'm a freak?"

He sighed, pulling me into a hug as he shook his head, "No Baby," he said gently as I began to cry into his chest, all the frustration, pain and fear that I had been feeling was all coming out now in the form of tears as my father's grip got tighter, "You are far from a freak—gifted maybe, but not a freak."

I looked up at him, "I can't control it," I chocked out between sobs, my blue eyes locking with his emerald ones, "What if I hurt someone?" I asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

"We'll figure this out," he said, pulling me back into a hug. He kissed the top of my head as I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him back.

"I wanted to tell you," I whispered into his chest, "I just didn't know where to start."

It only took a couple more minutes before I managed to control myself and I was able to stop crying. My stomach was flipping by then, but I pushed the sick feeling side long enough to be able to sit down as my father went to his bedroom. I hadn't even noticed that he was gone until he came back and sat down next to me, handing me an envelope.

"I got this in the mail a week after I brought you home from the hospital," he said, handing me a letter. I took it and noticed that it was addressed to 'Baby MacGyver', which I found strange considering that at the time, she couldn't have possibly been sure that he would have taken me—he had the option to put me up for adoption at the hospital. "I sighed for it under the agreement that only you would open it," he said after a moment of silence, "it's from your mother," he added.

"It's from my mother?" I asked, looking down at the delicate hand writing and old, yellowed paper, "Why?"

"I don't know," he said, "I never opened it."

I turned the envelope around, noting that there was no return address, and ripped it open. I pulled out a small letter that had name MacGyver across the front. I unfolded the pages and began to read the small note that was written on the inside in a delicate purple pen.

My dearest Baby:

I am so sorry that I can't be there for you, but I have bigger problems right now and I don't have the time to raise you the right way. Your father is a good man, my child, trust in him, he will never do you wrong. I know that he will do a great job in molding you into the great person that I am positive you will become, and I thank him for taking on this responsibility.

I understand that in the near future you will be confused, and I know that you are angry that the only thing I ever gave you was this curse, but if you embrace it and concur it, I promise you that you will never regret being a protector of the innocent.

Be strong and know that I will always love you no matter where I or you may be. Listen to your father and be all that you can be.

Love Always,

Mommy

I gritted my teeth against the sudden anger that ran through my body as I read the last of the letter. Loves me? Mommy? Dearest Baby? Where in the hell was all of this coming from? How could she have something more important to do than raise me, her daughter? How could she just leave me and assume that MacGyver would take up the trash that she didn't want. I crumpled up the letter in my tight fist and tossed it to the floor angrily.

"Yeah right," I muttered under my breath as I stood up and began to pace the floor out of pure anger. I couldn't believe this! She knew what she had done to me and she left me with my father, someone who knew nothing about it because he could do a better job then her? I could use her knowledge of this 'gift' right now to master it and instead I am pacing in an apartment as my father picks up the crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it out on the coffee table.

How could she just walk away from me when she knew the pain and suffering I was going to go through? I could have killed that man easily and she's worried that I'm not going to listen to my father? How twisted are this woman's values? I hate her! She did this to me and left me without a warning or an answer to the problem, the nerve this bitch has!

"Lex," my father said gently, coming up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder, "I'm sure she had her reasons…"

Wrong thing to say! "What reasons could she have to abandon me and you?" I said, spinning around to face him, "What excuse could she have to explain why she left us high and dry, dropped me in your lap, without so much as an answer to how to control this damned curse so that I don't kill someone?"

He sighed, "I don't know," he said, his emerald eyes locking with mine, "I really don't Kiddo."

I was past angry at this point, and was going to blow my top until I felt the burning in my back flair up. I cried out, holding my back as I hit my knees in pain and cursed lowly as I tried to calm myself down so not to blow a hole in the wall or worst than that hurt my father.

"Breath Alexis," he said as he knelt down in front of my and cupped my cheek. I slammed my eyes closed as tears began to leak once again from the corners of my eyes and I became even angrier at my mother for not telling me what to do to control it.

"It hurts," I groaned as I tried to breath and stop the burning, but it wasn't working and only served to make my temperature rise, my blood boiling with anger. I could feel the burning start to travel up my back and I began to sob as my father touched my cheek and I realized that he was still around. I might hurt him in such a small room if I were to release it the way I normally do, but no matter how hard I tried to breath and calm down, my anger towards my mother would surface and take the place of my calmed nature and cause the burning to continue. It continued its journey up my back as my father spoke gentle reassurances to me and suddenly I realized that this was a battle between my love for him and my sudden hate for her.

I wasn't going to let this hate for her take over my entire life, or hurt my father in anyway. He had suffered enough and didn't need to be hit by this blue light. I began to breathe slowly and soon listened to only my father's voice and soon pushed my anger out of my mind. As I began to breathe normally, the burning began to descend down my back and eventually subsided as I collapsed into my father, drained and tiered.

I forced my eyes open and looked up at him, "It's gone," I whispered as he picked me up and placed me on the couch gently, touching my cheek.

"You did it, without denting a garbage can," he said with a smile that everyone fell in love with. It was so gentle and it just told you that everything was alright.

I laughed softly, "Yeah, I guess I did," I said as I closed my eyes with a sigh, "I hate her dad," I said simply, leaving my eyes closed so I wouldn't have to see the disappointed look that I knew would have fallen across his face.

"I know," he said, running his thumb across my cheek to wipe the tear streak that was still there, "just take it easy," he added as he stood and walked away, to the kitchen where I heard him bang around in the cupboards.

"Dad," I said, opening my eyes to look at the ceiling, which needed a new coat of pain, the white now a cheap yellow color, "can I still go to Zaven's birthday?" I asked lowly, not wanting to sound too childish, but not over excited either.

"When is it?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night," I replied, crossing my fingers as I bit my bottom lip nervously.

"Alex…" he said, closing a cupboard door, "…only if you take your cell phone and you promise to keep it on at all times," he said.

I smiled, knowing that my father had the hardest time to say no, but wouldn't hesitate to if he truly thought that it was dangerous.

"I promise," I said.

"And if it happens again, you call me!" he said sternly.

"I promise," I repeated.

I had fallen asleep right after supper and had only woken up the next day when I heard my father return from, I assumed, the Phoenix foundation. I rolled over, groaning slightly as my eyes caught sight of the alarm clock, 11:47am. I had to get up, and I kept telling my body that, but all it wanted to do was go back to bed. I fought it until noon and finally got up and drug my feet all the way down the hall to the bathroom with my clothes in arms as I went into the bathroom and closed the door.

I dropped the closed onto the back of the flush and started to run the water, pulling off my shirt as I waited for the water to get warm. I then pulled the shower curtain, got undressed the rest of the way and flipped the switch, making the water run up to the shower nozzle and out into the shower to run down the tub and down the drain.

I climbed in carefully and indulged in the warm water relaxing all my tense muscles and wetting my out of control morning hair. It was something that I usually didn't waist time doing, in and out, but this time, I just stood there for the longest time as the water poured down over my head and down the rest of m body, loving the way it felt against my body.

I would have been there all day, except a sudden jolt of cold water made me cry out in surprise and jump out of the way. I shivered as I crawled out and wrapped a towel around my body and shut off the water. I groaned as I sat down on the flush and began to dry myself off, pulling on a pair of dark blue low rise jeans, a red Winnie-the-Pooh tank top and a black jean jacket. I looked in the mirror and began to towel dry my shoulder length light brown hair, tossing the towel in the hamper once I was done and picked up the brush that sat on the vanity.

I passed it through my hair gently, it being at the length where it started to tangle but was still too short to hold onto to stop it from pulling. Once I had it brushed out I threw it up into a half ponytail, flipped and styled it before unlocking the bathroom door and walking down into the kitchen.

"Thanks for the wake up call," I said to my father, who was sipping on a glass of milk in the kitchen.

"Sorry Soldier," he said, putting the glass on the table, motioning out of the window to the driveway, "I was working on my bike and got my hand dirty." I never understood why he called me soldier and didn't know whether to take is a compliment or an insult at some times, but I assumed that it was because I was strong headed (a polite way of calling me stubborn), and because of some one the assignments I had gone on in the past couple of years with him. I had been shot at, drugged, kidnapped, blown up (almost anyway), and stabbed, so I guess I am like his soldier.

"That bike of yours," I said, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and sitting it on the counter, "that thing wasn't run since we went on that trip," I added, grabbing the pitcher of orange juice and poured myself a glass, placing the empty jug in the sink and my now full glass on the table next to my father's hand.

"I'll get her running someday," he said. Mr. Fix-it that was my father alright, if it needed fixing my father wouldn't give up until he either fixed it or replaced it. I smiled softly as I grabbed a kiwi out of the fridge and closed the door gently. "So how are you feeling today?"

My smiled faded slightly; I just managed to add more fuel to the fire for my father. He was already worried about me, working for the Phoenix Foundation and all, and now he would be worried because of this too, "I feel fine, dad," I said and began to peal the skin off of my kiwi, throwing it in the garbage as I went, "I feel okay as long as I don't get upset and set it off."

"We'll work on finding a solution to this after a couple of days," he said cupping my cheek with a smile, "Zaven called a hour or so ago for you, wanted to see if you how you were feeling."

Great, another one! For Christ's sake, I'm going to have everyone worried sick about me by the end of this aren't I? "Thanks dad, I'll call her after," I replied, taking a bite of the kiwi, "I'm sure she'll be able to keep her head for a couple of minutes while I eat."

The minute the words left my mouth the sound of the phone ringing rang through the house, "Or not," I muttered, popping the rest of the kiwi in my mouth before I went to the end table in the living room and hit the speaker button on the phone, "MacGyver residence, Alexis speaking," I said once I swallowed the kiwi, almost chocking on it because I didn't take the time to chew.

"Hello there Alex," it was Pete's voice that came back over the line and I smiled, "how are you feeling this morning?" The smile faded as I shot my attention to my father and glared. He had told Pete? Damn it! Who doesn't know?

"Huh, she's fine Pete," my father called from the kitchen before I had a chance to reply, "Just a slight fever, nothing to worry about." I sighed in relief, dropping my glare. Pete must have called after I fell asleep last night and my father told him that I wasn't feeling well and had gone to bed early.

"That's great to hear," Pete replied, "Listen Mac, I got word from a guy by the name of Jason and he says that he's gone some information on that thing you wanted checked out." I brought my attention to my father, throwing him a 'you didn't' look.

"Alright Pete," he said, coming into the living room, "I'll be down soon to pick it up."

"Alright, see you then," he replied as my father hung up.

"Who's Jason?" I demanded.

"An old friend and I didn't tell him anything," he said before I could ask, "All I told him was that I wanted the information, not what for." I sighed as I went into the kitchen, grabbing my glass of orange juice.

"Alright," I said, not like I had a choice in the matter, "When are you going to the office?" I asked, coming in to the living room and sitting down, grabbing the remote and turned on the television.

"Soon," he replied, picking up his glass and downing the remainder of his drink, "I'll be back soon, so don't go to far and try not to get into any trouble," he added, grabbing his jacket as I swallowed the juice that I had put into my mouth.

"Yes, dad, I know," I said, turning the channel to one that I thought might had an interesting show on, "I'll be here when you get back," I added, taking another drink as I brought my attention to the television in front of my fully, turning up the volume as I heard my father open the door and walk out, closing it without sound.

I watched some television while I finished my juice and managed to get another kiwi in during a commercial break. It wasn't so bad now that the weight of lying to my father and hiding something so important from his was lifted from my chest and I could relax and be myself once again. I pulled my feet up onto the couch and got comfortable just as the phone rang.

I groaned in aggravation to the person's timing and leaned over to the end table, hitting the speaker button because it was closer than the receiver was, "MacGyver residence, Alexis speaking." People thought it strange the way I answered the phone, but when I was young and hit that age where answering the phone was cool, my father had taken a week to teach me how to be polite and nice while talking to the person who had called. I asked him what to say, and when 'Hello' didn't work because I would spit it out to fast and people would think they had the wrong number, he taught that line to slow me down and it kind of stuck.

"Hey there," this time it was Zaven, "How are you? Did you tell your dad everything? Are you grounded for life for lying? Was he…" I couldn't help but cut her off at this point, placing my glass, that was now filled with water instead of juice.

"Slow down," I said in a laugh, "I'm fine, yes I told him everything, No I'm not grounded, and no, he wasn't mad," I said, answering all of her asked questions before I let her continue, "Anything else?"

"Yeah, are you coming tonight or does you dad have you only total twenty-four hour watch?" she asked.

"Chill," I said, leaving my eyes on the television, "As long as I have my cell then its all T.U.C." I replied, and for your F.Y.I (for you information) T.U.C. stands for totally under control.

"That's totally wicked!" she replied, "So he's gonna have you on twenty-four hours cell call instead huh?"

"Yeah," I replied, grabbing my glass and taking a drink from it for a lack of something better to do with my hands at the time, "It's better than being in total lock down." Sometimes I couldn't believe how much my language style changed when I spoke to different people. With my father, I speak properly; with Pete, politely; and with my friends, my old English teach would have a total mental break down if he heard me—we didn't call him Dictionary Delong for nothing, the man was a total English robot.

"So, your dad's cool with the fact that you played him?" she asked.

"I didn't play him, playing is what Tony did to Jessica man," I replied. Tony and Jessica were the hottest couple in school, until Jessica found out that Tony had had more than one true love and was sleeping around on her. "I simply withheld the truth for fear of my life."

"Hide it for fear of your life? How did you pull that on off?" she asked, voice laughing.

I laughed, placing the glass back down, "It's T.B.S (not the television station; it stands for total bull shit) and I don't think he bought it but he did let it slide off of him like butter off of hot pancakes."

Zaven laughed, "Yeah, gotta love that," she said, "So I'll see you at 8:00 o'clock?"

"Totally girl, I wouldn't miss it for all the donuts in Hillman's diet." Zaven busted out laughing, Hillman being our old French teacher, and when I say the woman was big, I mean industrial huge and she always had a donut in her mouth, hand or on her desk—the woman had to have eaten millions of the things while I was in her class alone. God only knows how many more she devoured on her own time and during other classes.

"Alright then girl," she said, still laughing, "See you then."

"T.T.F.N. (Ta Ta for now)" I replied and hung up.

I continued to watch television, getting up every once in a while during commercials to fill my drink or get something to snack on. I watched television until it became apparent that there was nothing worth my time on, so I got up and placed a C.D. in the C.D. player, turned off the television and hit play on the stereo. I then began the dishes, turning the music up to a level that was much louder than I would have put it at had my father been in the house, but he wasn't, so I cranked it and began running the water.

I added the soap, and then the dirty dishes and began washing them as my song came on. I smiled to myself and began to sing the words, laughing when I messed up the words and accidentally splashed myself.

There wasn't that many to do up, and once they were placed in the rack, they only filled half of it so I decided to dry them as well, grabbing the cloth out of the cupboard under the sink. The couple of glasses and bowls went by fast enough, and I placed the cast iron frying pan on the stove and turned on the burner while I went to change the song that was playing. I turned it down a few notches at the same time and once I got back to the kitchen, the pan was dry so I turned off the burner and put it away. I dried the tray and rack and put them under the sink, then folded the cloth as my father came him, giving me that 'you are going to ruin your ears with the music so loud look', a look that I had received a lot.

He walked over and turned to down to what he called 'a dull roar'. "You'll be deaf by the time you're my age at that rate," he said as I closed the cupboard door with a smile.

"Then I have plenty of time to enjoy my hearing," I shot back, sticking my tong out at him playfully.

"You'll be my age someday," he said with a smile.

I shook my head, "Nope, you'll always be older than me!" I said with a smile, "So did you get the information you wanted?"

He nodded, pulling a yellow envelope out of his jacket and tossed it on the table, "I'll read up on it tonight," he said, "So what do you want for supper, Kiddo?"

I looked at my watch, "It's only 4:00 o'clock," I said, looking back up at him, "since when do we eat that early?" I asked, seeing him shrug.

"Just asking what you are in the mood for," he said, and I smiled, knowing that he didn't know what time it was when he asked and that he hadn't eaten before he left and was probably hungry.

"Anything you want sounds fine," I replied and turned off my C.D. as a song that I knew swore came on and I didn't feel like getting a lecture or a look, "It doesn't really matter to me," I added, heading for the couch and picked up the glass that I had left there.

It never ceased to amaze me how much me and my father got along. The thought of moving out never crossed my mind like it did for most other teenagers my age. Most of them rang out of their homes and didn't look back after graduation, while I got a job working with my father and still lived home. Call it what you want, attacked, babied, spoiled, but I like it this way; the MacGyver's together and still strong, or Team MacGyver as Pete called us.

"How's fish sound?" he asked and I turned and looked at him with a disgusted looked on my face. He knew that I hated fish with a passion, and I knew that he was joking when he stuck his tong out at me.

"Sounds great," I muttered sarcastically with a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.**

**Chapter 4**

Going to Zaven's house was a task in its own. I had my overnight bag with the necessities, her gift, my cell, and father with his worried looks the whole way there. I tried to tell him that I was going to be fine, that I had no reason to get upset at Zaven's and that I wouldn't have, what we had begun to call, another episode.

He sighed, hugging me tightly before letting me get out of the car, kissing my cheek gently. Sometimes I wondered if I was being babied, but I deserved it on the weekends, because during the week I was too adult—as my father and Pete had pointed out several times, so I guess it leveled out somewhere.

"Your cell is on?" he asked.

I nodded with a smile, pulling the device out of it's holder on my belt and showed him that the power was on and that the battery was fully charged, "And I have the charger," I added, clipping it back onto my belt.

"Alright," he said as I opened the door and stepped out, "Have fun and be…"

I cut him off, hearing this line a thousand times in my seventeen years, "…be polite, well behaved and good mannered," I finished with a smile. He smiled as I closed the door and walked up the driveway as he drove off.

I walked into the place, kicking my shoes off—this being Zaven's apartment and her parents not around, she never really got along with her step-father and was out of the house on graduation night. I dropped my stuff off in the doorway and headed into the kitchen where I found Zaven and Arie making some popcorn.

I smiled as Zaven caught my eye and threw a piece of popcorn at me, which I caught and tossed in my mouth. "Hey there," I called, grabbing Arie's attention, her back being to me as she grabbed a couple glasses out of the cupboard.

She turned to me, "Hey there stranger," she said. I smiled, knowing that it had been a couple of weeks since I last spoke to her, but we weren't that close anymore and I didn't bother calling her when I was on assignment. She didn't really agree with my decision to skip the whole university thing and jump into the work field, and we didn't really bother fighting about it, only because I told her straight out that it was my life and that she was jealous that I had managed to land a damn good paying job and wouldn't have the trouble of student loans afterwards. We didn't speak for a while and we never really got that close when we did start again.

"What's new?" I asked, watching as she shrugged.

"Got accepting to my university course," she said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn that she had just poured and handed it to Zaven, "I leave next week."

"That's cool," I said, laughing inside that I was right about our previous fight, and Zaven knew what I was thinking and started to giggle. Zaven wanted to do a lot of stuff and didn't really know where to start, so she decided to take a year off and figure herself out before she paid out any money to get the courses she needed under her belt, which was cool with me.

"I'm glad your dad let you come," Zaven said as I placed the box with her gift in it on the counter.

"Yeah, he sure does have you on a short leash huh?" Arie added. I glared at the back of her head but said nothing because I didn't want to start a feud in the middle of Zaven's birthday.

"He was worried, that's all," I said, dropping my glare as Zaven looked at me and shrugged. I rolled my eyes and we headed into the living room where there was music playing.

"Hey Lex, did you bring that C.D. I like?" Zaven asked, turning to me as she pivoted in her seat to face me completely.

I shook my head, "I did better," I replied, "My lap top is in the entrance, any song I have is one there," I said with a smile as Zaven tossed me a smirk.

"Good thinking," she replied as Arie glared at the television. I kicked myself mentally sudden as I realized that I sounded like a total snob. I didn't want to brag, but I worked damn hard for what I have and work even harder to keep it—I was still making payments on that laptop and I paid monthly on my cell phone! I never understood why she hated the fact that I was successful and I didn't have to go through seven more years of school to do it. So my father had connections, let's face it, Pete was my friend to—he was there the day my father brought me home from the hospital, the day I learned to ride a bike—both petal and motor—he was there the day I broke my arm, the day I graduated, and the day I joined the Phoenix Foundation. How much more does the man have to do before she can class him as my friend? I hated the fact that she was jealous of me, but I couldn't help it if I was ahead of her in life, Zaven understood that and was happy for me, why couldn't she be?

"So anyway," I said, changing the subject as I realized that the room had felt silent and had become very tense, "What do you got planned Zaven now that you're nineteen?"

She laughed, "Well if I lived in Canada, I'd be drinking," she said with a smile, "besides, that, all I want to do is survive to see twenty."

I laughed, understanding that feeling completely. Arie had lightened up after some time, like she always did, and we got to laughing and talking like we used to in high school, the only difference was we didn't have to worry about waking someone's parents.

Around two in the morning we were still up and dancing around with my laptop playing music. Arie was singing along with the song while Zaven and I got some more drinks and chips in the kitchen. When there was a break in the music, Arie playing around to find another song so nothing was currently playing, a loud thump rang through the small apartment, making all of us jump.

"It was probably just Rufus," I reasoned, that being Zaven's new kitten, a playful little guy that was completely capable of knocking something over in the other room, "I'll go and check up on it."

I headed down the small hallway and into the back bedroom, walking into the room and picked up the little kitten at my feet, turning my back to the dark room with a laugh, "It was Rufus guys," I called, hearing the two of them talking in the living room about what if it were a burglar or a murderer, "You're an energetic little guy, aren't…" I was cut off suddenly as I was hit in the back of the head and brought to my knees, throwing Rufus into the hallway, watching as the kitten hit into the hall and ran down into the living room.

I felt a wet, sticky substance starting to run down the back of my neck, bringing a hand up to touch it, felt it's thick consistency before I was pulled to my feet roughly by my hair and suddenly had an arm wrapped around my waist to keep me from running away.

The man holding me smelled of liquor, which made me want to vomit right there, but I managed to hold firm and fight him, trying desperately to reach my cell phone that happened to be just out of reach.

"Zave, call 911, quickly!" I screamed as the man's grip tighten on me and his hand, the one that had a handful of my hair, released me and moved to my mouth, making me cry out to his touch and continue to struggle, this time managing a hit or two on him as he tried to resist my movements.

We both hit our knees suddenly as he brought me down to the floor, my cell phone falling out of its clip and sliding across the floor out into the hall as I accidentally kicked it in my struggles. I continued to fight the man to no avail, his strength far superior to my own and suddenly I cried out from under his hand as the burning in my back flared up suddenly.

'No,' I thought to myself, 'Not now!' But no matter how hard I tried to fight it, the burning continued as the man managed to bring me to the floor entirely, turning me over onto my back, which consequently caused me to cry out again in pain, and he straddled me as I kicked frantically, but every kick missed except one or two that had no affect on the massive man's structure.

I began to cry, out of fear or pain I wasn't sure, but just as tears began to fall down my cheeks, the man laughed, making me even more angry. I had one hand on the man's chest and the other on his upper arm, and I realized that one of two things had to happen soon or I would die; either the cops had to show up, or the burning in my back had to move up my arm and into my hand, turn into blue light, and throw this guy off of me before he strangled me to death.

I could hear Arie and Zaven yelling at one another in the other room about whether to come down the hall or not; Zaven wanting to come down and kill the guy with a kitchen bread knife while Arie wanted her to wait for the cops, who were on their way. I couldn't have cared less at this point what either of them did; I just wanted this guy to leave me alone. I began to cry as his hands moved from my mouth and shoulder to around my throat and I cried out as he began to chock the life out of me.

I gagged loudly as I struggled to get some air into my deprived lungs and at the same time had managed to plant one hand on his chest firmly while I automatically placed the other around his hands to try and break his grip, which was a joke because this guy could have easily snapped my neck if he wanted to and I thought at that moment that he was having more fun by doing it slowly.

"Zaven!" I cried out in exasperation, now frustrated that my two friends were busy fighting with one another while I was slowly being chocked to death on her bedroom floor. I cried out as I gripped a handful of his shirt in my tight fist and the burning shot from my back, up my arm and into my hand where it stayed there momentarily until I opened my hand.

By this point I was seeing stars, black dots, and was feeling sick to my stomach as my blood began to pool around my head. I saw the man's body light up in light blue light and then sudden fly across the room to hit into the opposite wall, slide down the wall and lay on the floor coughing. I coughed as well, feeling air fill my lungs as I closed my eyes, feeling dizzy, scared, angry, and a lot of other emotions all at once. I rolled over, holding my throat with one hand as I used the other to try and stop the blood flow, but it was pointless.

I coughed again as I began to hear foot steps running down the hallway and three cops entered the room, one flicking on the light which had remained off all this time while the other two of them stepped over me to go to the would be robber/murderer, which I found funny because I was the victim and I was the one bleeding to death on the floor. The one that had turned on the light, a younger man, knelt down to my level and placed two fingers under my jaw.

"She's alive!" he called as I rolled over onto my back with a groan.

"No shit Sherlock!" I shot back angrily, my vision blurry and the pain in my back starting to dull, which was unusual because normally it takes a night's sleep before that happens, "What took you so God damn long?" I demanded angrily as the cop helped me to my feet gently and the intruder was placed in cuffs as the room spun violently from under me.

It turns out that he was wanted to several counts of breaking and entering along with murder; well that's something I really needed to know! I was brought to the couch where I sat down and pressure was applied to my wounded head, an E.M.T. was waiting for me and I was looked after. It turns out that it was only a surface wound that was caused when the man hit me with the butt of his gun, which he stupidly dropped when I began to struggle.

My cell phone was returned to me and my father was called immediately as the cops began to speak with Zaven and Arie about the situation and what had happened, leaving me to gain my strength and my mind, which was obviously else where. My friends gave their statements while I sat there, my hands and legs shaking fiercely as I began to think. Had I not gone down to check up on the noise the man would have shot us all, we'd be all dead right now, murdered in cold blood and no one would have even known until our bodies were found by my father the next day when he came to pick me up. Had I not struggled against the man, causing him to drop his gun, I would be dead right now, a bullet between the eyes and that was it, lights out, good night nurse, goodbye cruel world! Had I not had my gift, I would have been chocked to death before the cops ever arrived. Too many what ifs and could have been for my liking, and the more time I was given to think, the more I began to shake and the more I had to fight not to cry.

My father showed up in what felt like hours, but I was told later on that it was only minutes after receiving the call. I stood up slowly, dropping the cloth that the E.M.T had told me to hold on the back of my head to stop the bleeding and I stood up. It amazed me how no matter how strong someone was, when they saw there father (or mother in some cases) they would break down like babies and begin to cry. I did just that, tears rolling down my cheeks as I began to cry uncontrollably, my body shaking fiercely as he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly, not letting go for the fear of the unknown.

I nuzzled into his chest, hearing his heart beat as I cried, wrapping my arms around him and held on for dear life. I was so scared and at that point all I wanted to do was hear him say the words that would make everything alright again.

"It's okay," he whispered in my ear, but this time the words didn't make the feeling go away, I just began to cry even harder, feeling my father's grip on me tightening as one of his tears fell from his cheek and hit mine, rolling down to mix with my own. He moved his hands, placing one on my back and the other on the back of my hand gently, but pulled it away when he felt my blood run through his fingers.

"I could have been killed," I said as I pulled away, but that didn't last long as my legs continued to shake and he sat me down on the couch just as my legs turned into two pieces of cooked spaghetti and I collapsed into the sofa, resting my head on his shoulder without a second thought, "Oh god, he could have killed me!" I sobbed as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

The cop wanted to talk with me, but I refused to talk to anyone at that point; all I wanted to do was go home and cry myself to sleep, but he insisted to the point of making me angry, and I would have told him so had my father not told me that if he wanted a statement from me it would have to wait until morning when I was capable of making full sentences without starting to cry. We then picked ourselves up off of the floor, couch, chairs, and all headed to our respectable cars, the cops in their squad cars and Zaven, Arie, my father and I in our jeep. He dropped Arie off home and then headed home, taking Zaven with us because she didn't want to stay in the house alone—besides, it was either that or the cops would take her to her parents house, and she really wasn't in the mood to talk to them.

I stumbled into the house, my legs and brain not working together anymore as my father helped me and Zaven to the couch where he handed each of us a glass of cold water. I placed my glass on the table as I looked down at my shaking hand and knew that I was about to make a mess with it if I didn't.

Tears were still rolling down my cheeks, as well as Zaven's by now as my father sat down between us, wrapping his arm around my shoulders once again, pulling me close as I rested my head on his shoulder, body still shaking. He turned his attention to Zaven, who was staring blankly out the living room window, tears rolling down her cheeks freely as her hands began to shake. He smiled softly, wrapping the other arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close as well, hugging her tightly.

I had tried to sleep, but it seemed that every time I closed my eyes I saw the man that had tried to kill me that night and I could help but begin to cry, opening my eyes and held onto my father tightly. I noticed several times that I would wake up, still on the couch, my hand gripping my father's shirt and my breathing fast and forced as I looked up at him, who was still wide awake.

I couldn't even imagine what he was thinking, but if it was anything like the thoughts that were running through my head, then I understood why he was still awake. Zaven had fallen asleep and my father had gotten up one time when I woke up and brought her to the other couch and laid her down gently, pulling a blanket up and covered her shaking body, brushing the hair from her eyes gently with a sigh. He then sat back down and hugged me tightly, rubbing my back in small soothing circles until I fell asleep as well.

I woke up a couple of hours later, around ten o'clock that morning, opening my eyes quickly as I broke myself out of a dream of the man once again. I looked around the room, breathing quick and soon noticed that it was my living room and that I was on the couch and not on Zaven's bedroom floor.

I looked over and saw Zaven sleeping on the other couch, and noted that my father had laid me down on the couch as well and had covered me with another blanket. I wasn't hot, yet was sweating, my breathing was quick, yet I wasn't out of breath. I hated the feeling and tried to go back to bed, but found that I couldn't. I was going to sit up until I heard a knock at the door.

At the sound of it my heart jumped into my throat, but I soon calmed down as my father came into the kitchen from down the hall and answered the door.

"You guys didn't waist any time coming here today now did you?" he asked, and I knew right then that it was the cops, here to get there statement from me. I closed my eyes, holding back he urge to groan because it would only tell them that I was awake. They didn't need to know that I was awake, and hopefully they would just go away ad forget the whole thing.

"We hate to bother you so soon, but we must get the statement from your daughter," I remembered that voice, the young one. I kept my eyes closed and hoped that my father would tell them to just go away, that I was sleeping and he didn't want to wake me, but he didn't and came into the living room and placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.

"Alex," he whispered and I moaned my response, "Come on baby, you have to talk to them."

I pulled my knees to my chest, shaking my head, "No, tell them to go away," I said, rolling over to put my back to him, "I don't want to talk about it."

I heard him sigh, and suddenly felt guilty about the position I was putting him in. I couldn't possibly expect him to tell the cop again to go away, or tell me that I had to talk to them, so I rolled back over. I opened my eyes slowly, mumbling my apologies as I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, then my neck gently.

I was going to get up and go into the kitchen, but the man got up from his seat at the kitchen table and came into the living room, sitting down on the couch, a good two feet away from me and pulled out his little pen and pad.

"What made you go down to the bedroom?" he asked.

"A noise," I replied simply, thinking that it was a stupid question. 'Just for shits and giggles' I thought resentfully.

"Did he attack you or did you jump him first?" he asked. Again with the stupid questions, but I answered it as politely as possible.

"He hit me in the back of the head when I put my back to him to leave the room," I said.

"Tell me what happened from there," he said.

I sighed, not wanting to talk about it, but starting none the less, giving him the condensed version, "We struggled, I called to Zaven to call you guys and he ended up on top of me, trying to strangle me to death," I said simply.

"How did he end up on the other side of the room?" he asked.

This time I stammered clearly and openly, acting confused while I tried to think of an explanation to that question that wouldn't bring up my abilities, "I kicked him off of me when he got distracted, the room is pretty small, it wasn't hard with his attention averted." Well, that wasn't exactly a lie; aw hell, close enough.

"What distracted him?" he asked.

"Hearing you guys come into the house," I replied, leaving my eyes on the floor at my feet, "which took long enough," I added bitterly. My father cleared his throat, signaling that I was pushing it, but I didn't care and continued to stare at the floor, "Are we done?" I demanded, standing to my feet, crossing my arms over my chest as I fought back the tears that were forming in my eyes again.

"Yes, thank you," he said, also getting to his feet. My father tanked him for his patients and showed him to the door, shaking his hand and thanking him for all his help. I glared angrily at the wall ahead of me for a moment, and then returned to the couch, laying down and closed my eyes tightly, fighting back the urge to cry with every being in my body.

"You should eat something, Lex," he said gently and came into the room, sitting down by my feet.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled, sniffling slightly as I heard my father sigh and pull the blanket back up over my shoulders and brushed my hair back, kissing my cheek gently.

"Alright," he said gently, voice ever so soft, "I'll call Pete and tell him that we won't be in today."

"Why don't you go in dad?" I said, leaving my eyes closed, "I'll be fine here—with the doors and windows locked," I added, feeling him get up and head down the hall.

"No, I'm staying right here with the both of you," he said over his shoulder and headed off.

I sighed softly, suddenly fed up with being the victim and decided that it was time that I mastered this gift and learned how to use it so I could protect myself and the people I cared for. Once I could manage to stand without my knees going weak and I knew that I could eat something and keep it down, I was going to conquer this and I was going to master this ability.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.**

**Chapter 5**

It took me a good week to be able to get myself back to normal, sleeping through my night without nightmares, where I could eat a full meal without pushing the plate away after three bites, and I could stand for long periods of time without my legs feeling like a pair of shoe laces. I was glad to say that Zaven had moved in for the time being until she could get herself to the point where staying alone didn't bother her and she found a new apartment closer to someone she knew either us or the police station.

My father had almost lost his mind the past couple of days, and I felt sorry for him because every time there was a noise and no of us jumped, he was right there with a hand on our shoulder and reassurances. He was the best, and I suddenly realized that fact. I went back to work at the end of that week, as did Zaven and my father.

"I'll pick you up after work," my father said to Zaven as we dropped her off at the local movie rental store.

"I can walk home Mr. MacGyver," she said with a smile, "It's only two blocks away—I'll be fine."

My father nodded, "Alright then," he said gently with a smile, "and I've told you a thousand times, drops the Mr. It's only MacGyver." Zaven smiled and nodded as she walked into the store and we drove off.

Work was the strangest thing that I had to adjust too. Pete was constantly watching after me, sending me around to do things that I had done my first couple of weeks, things that a child could easily do. He always spoke gently, and it came to the point where it was driving me insane to be getting all this special treatment.

"Pete, please stop it," I said that morning, exasperated to the point of getting angry, "I just want things to go back to normal, no matter what I may have gone through or any other reason you have come up with."

"Things are normal Alex," he said. I sighed, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk, leaning on the desk itself as I looked him in the eye.

"Pete, you are stepping on egg shells around me and I hate it!" I said truthfully, "I want the old Pete that would call me on my cell went he got a lead on a hot case, the Pete that picked me up and dusted me off when I fell off of my bike…"

"That's right, I picked you up and dusted you off," he said firmly, "I protected you!"

"But you put e right back on!" I said exasperatedly, "I didn't want to try again, but you insisted and put me back on!"

Pete sighed, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, "Alright Alex," he said with a smile as he leaned forward once again, "You're right."

"I never get fed up of hearing that," I said with a smile as I stood up, satisfied that I had gotten my point across to him without being belligerent. "Now that we are on the same page," I said with a sigh of relief, "I need to know the down low on a guy by the name of Murdock."

I never had the real opportunity to meet this Murdock character, but I've been told that he has been a thorn in my father's back side for some time now, and I wanted to get to know him, read his file, think how he thinks, and know what he knows. Pete had hesitated on giving me the file because he knew that I was stubborn, like my old man; once I was into something, I wouldn't give up on it.

"I've told you a thousand times, Alex, if I've told you once," he said looking up at me with a small smile of apology. "I can't just give you those."

I rolled my eyes, "I could just go to Saunders." Saunders was a boy, well he was older than me but younger than the others around and that was what they called him, but that's not the point. He was a brilliant guy when it came to computers, and he worked as our technician, and could easily get me the files with a little…persuasion.

"Alex, give me a break," Pete said as he stood up exasperatedly, "Your father would kill me if I gave you those files, and you know that!"

"Either I get them from you or I'll find my way around it," I said stubbornly, my forest green eyes locking with Pete's orbs impatiently, "It's up to you, Pete."

"What's up to Pete?" my father asked, which caused me to drop my look, which would have told my father exactly what I wanted from Pete, and smiled at him.

"Nothing," I said with a smile as the realization that I could be very manipulative when I wanted to be. I smiled at them both and headed out of the room as I heard Pete say something along the lines of 'she's at it again' while my father sighed, apologized and also left, right on my heals.

"Alexis Liana MacGyver, stop right there and don't move an inch!" I winced as he used my full name and froze in place and closed my eyes, praying to God that he wasn't as mad as he sounded as he spit out that name like it was an abbreviation and meant nothing.

"Yes?" I asked, unclenching my teeth and opening my eyes as I spun around and forced a smile on my lips, my eyes locking with his, "Can I help you with something?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to drag Pete into you little expeditions?" he demanded angrily, glaring down at me.

"I'm not dragging him along like a dog on a leash, what more do you need?" I shot back, suddenly glaring back at him, angry to the fact that he was still treating me like a child when I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I loved the man, but I couldn't stand the fact that he was hiding this part of our life from me because he didn't think that I could handle it. It drove me nuts to think that this was the one man that had caused my father to lose sleep, had kidnapped me as a child—not that I remember it, but my old man sure does—and the old person that had been able to slip out of his grasp for the better part of almost twenty years.

"Leave it go, Alexis," he said, voice agitated, "Murdock is dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt or involved with him; do you understand me?"

I nodded, eyes still blazing angrily, "I'll stop asking Pete for help," I said, turning my back on him, "but I won't just drop it!" I added and began to walk down the hallway, leaving my father standing alone in the small hall, eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

I was pissed off to say the least, I hated the fact that I knew nothing about this guy, that my father insisted on hiding him from me. I could handle myself, not that I didn't need my father, but wanted to know about this Murdock so badly that I would do anything to get those files—even run to Saunders.

I did just that, going up to the fourth floor and went to talk to my dear friend Saunders. I didn't really know the guy that well, but I'm sure if I put a little sass in my step I could get the files I wanted from him—okay, so I was manipulating him, but hey, I needed to know what it was about this guy that gave my father nightmares.

I headed straight into his little office type thing on the corner and sat down on his desk, leaning forward to look over his shoulder at whatever it was that he was looking at—I couldn't tell the hard drive from the monitor on a computer when it was torn apart, so I didn't know or care about what it was that I was looking at exactly.

"Watcha doin'?" I asked my voice overly soft as I smiled at him. He smiled back at me but I knew that he knew what I was up to by the look in his eye, "My father come and see you?" I asked as my voice felt to irritated.

"No, not yet," he said with a smirk as he picked up a file folder and held it before me, "This is the file on Murdock that you have been looking for," he said, dropping it to his desk as I reached up to grab it. I shot him a look on confusion as I dropped my hand to my side slowly.

"What do you want for it?" I asked lowly.

"That file holds any information that we have on him," he said motioning to the large, thick folder that now sat behind him, "And I want nothing to do with giving it to you; but if I were to have felt my keys on the desk, and my attention just happened to be averted while we spoke, then theoretically, anyone could take the keys and come into my office while I was out," he added, dropping his keys to the desk with a smirk.

I smiled, suddenly realizing what he was getting at; he didn't want me to be able to point the finger at him and he didn't want any blame to be able to be laid on him, smart boy! My smile widened as he averted his attention back to the computer that he was working on and gave me the opportunity to swipe the keys from his desk to my pockets. I stood and soon after and excused himself, saying that he had to go to the shipping desk to see if the part he had ordered earlier that week was in yet and we left as he closed the door behind him, locking it behind us.

My smile faded as he turned the corner. I had to decide whether to drop this Murdock thing and go home, or whether to break every moral I had and break into Saunders' office and get the file. Was it still considered breaking in if he gave me the keys? Was what just happened considered giving me the keys, or did I steal those as well? I was suddenly filled with guilt and remorse for ever thinking of such a thing, but I wanted to know!

I pulled the keys from my pocket and looked at them for a moment, just standing outside his office, looking down at the locked door and the keys in my hand. If I did this there would be no turning back, I would have to take the heat for it all because Saunders had the perfect alibi because he was in shipping. I decided that it was high time that I did something to find out about this Murdock and I put the key into the lock slowly, turning the key until I heard the door click open. I pushed the door open and walked in, walking over to his desk and just stood there for a moment or two, just looking at the folder. I took a deep breath, tossing the keys tot eh desk and took the folder, walking out of the room with more than just thoughts, now with regrets that I wasn't only snooping, but now I thief.

My father had stole stuff in his missions to help himself, keys, maps, cars, clothes, so why was this any different? It wasn't! I could tell myself that I thousand times and I still knew that what I had done was morally and legally wrong, but I could also say that I had to do it, but for what, my own personal gain? To cure my curiosity? Anything was possible at this point, and all I could think of was that I had the files—that's all that mattered right now.

I went to the lunch room first to drop a line that I was going home and that if my father or Pete needed me they could just call my cell phone. I then headed down the hall and into the elevator to the main floor and out onto the front street to begin the seven block walk home.

I couldn't help but wonder about that was in the files, what had this man done? I wasn't paying attention to anything or anyone at this point and all I wanted to do was get home. Have you ever gone somewhere, then not remember how you got there? You can't remember passing the local convenient store, or the movie theater? You don't remember crossing any streets or hearing any cars drive by? All you remember was leaving the place you were at and suddenly you were at your destination with no idea of how you managed it? Well I do it all the time when I'm thinking about something, and this time was no exception; I got home, kicked off my shoes and went straight to my room, opening the file and spreading the sheets across my bed as I sat in the middle of the mess, legs crossed.

I started with his name, age, current location—which was unknown—and line of work, which turned out to be a professional hit man with an organization named H.I.T. I then moved to personal information like description, hair color, eye color, family—which was only a sister, parents deceased—and other such things, moving from one sheet to the next without a second thought.

I then pushed the sheets aside, tucking them back into the folder and grabbed up the papers on his past in H.I.T—which I could seem to find the meaning of—and began to read each case individually. This took several hours because of the fact that the man was H.I.T's main guy and he had never failed a mission until it came to my father. These cases went from kidnapping of an infant child all the way to the cold blooded murder of an army general. It turned out that he was suspended for some time, where he actually asked my father for help on saving his sister's life, which my father did, and then went back to his old ways.

As my stack of papers began to dwindle down, I slowly began to learn why my father was scared of such a man. He was the type to play games, playing with peoples' minds as he watched them squirm and panic about their situations. The last file that the foundation had on him wasn't up to date, and I knew this because it was the one about the day he kidnapped me when I was two years old or so.

I was playing in a park just outside of town with my father close by, talking with an old friend when I was picked up and taken. I was gone a total of two hours before Murdock first made contact with my father and began his mind games; I was returned later that week, covered in blood with was tested and found to be only animal blood from a local butchery—another game meant to scare him, and it worked. My heart had sank to its lowest as I read all the notes about him, ho cruel he truly was and what he had done. This man was unbelievable!

I placed the last of the papers into the folder with a sigh and pushed it aside as I lay back on my bed and looked at the plain white ceiling above my head. No wonder my father wanted me to stay away from this guy, he was a real creepy person. I sat up as the sudden urge to close my eyes hit me, knowing that I couldn't fall asleep—yet.

I threw my feet over the edge of the bed, leaning forward in my seat, bearing my face in my hands, sighing again. I looked at the floor at under my feet and suddenly realized just how ugly my bedroom floor was—a white floor with specks of random colors of black, green, and orange. I gave my floor a disgusted look and ran my fingers through my hair as I looked back up at the wall, picking up the folder and stood up. I looked down at the yellow folder, heaving one last sigh before heading out into the kitchen, dropping it on the table and decided to get something to drink before leaving.

I heard someone coming up the stairs and gasped as I looked at the clock, tossing my glass onto the counter, slamming the fridge door and tossed my jacket over the files as Zaven crawled into the house, going straight to the living room and crashed down on the couch, placing an arm over her eyes.

"Long day?" I said, picking back up my glass and opened the fridge door and attempted to pour my drink for the second time.

"Uh huh," she groaned, not moving from her position on the couch.

I smiled, placing the pop bottle back into the fridge and closed the door, turning around to face her as I leaned against the counter, taking a small sip of the liquid, letting the bubbles tickle my throat before continuing to speak to her.

"Well, you can crash if you want," I said, downing the rest of my drink, groaning to the stinging feeling it left in my throat as I placed the glass down, "I'll be back in a few hours so you have the house to yourself," I added, grabbing the file folder before heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" she said, pulling her arm down as she leaned her head back to look at me, although I was sure that she was looking at me upside down.

"Just around," I said to her with a smile, "I'll be back," I added, opening the door as stepped out onto the landing, "Good night."

"Thanks," she mumbled, looking back up at the ceiling momentarily before throwing her arm back over her eyes, yawning as I closed the door and headed down the stairs. I groaned suddenly, stopping in the middle of the steps as I realized that the keys to Saunders' office were sitting on the kitchen table. I turned around, heading back up the stairs to get the keys so that I could put the files back before anyone—especially my father—found out.

I opened the door slowly, and silently, to see Zaven asleep on the couch and the keys on the kitchen table where I had left them. I walked in, grabbing the keys and slowly headed back towards the door to see my father parking the jeep at the bottom of the stars. I groaned, swearing under my breath and closed the door and headed down to my room, files in hand.

I closed my bedroom door, leaning against it momentarily as I scanned my room for a place to keep the files, but couldn't find a place where they wouldn't be spotted or put in a place where I wouldn't forget about them. I groaned again in aggravation, heading for my bedroom window, sliding it open and crawled out onto the fire escape, cell phone in hand. I looked back, closing the window and headed down to the ground as my father came into my room, calling my name.

I headed straight to the Phoenix Foundation and back up to Saunders' office, thanking God that he wasn't there. I didn't know if he had returned yet or if he had gone home for the night after going to the shipping room, but either way I wanted the file back on his desk before morning light.

I pulled the keys out of my pocket and looked for the right one on the ring, placing it in the door and unlocked it, opening it and slid into the room silently. I sighed in relief as I went to place the folder back down on the desk, but was stopped as I was pulled away from the desk roughly, the file falling to the floor as a hand slapped over my mouth.

I struggled against the person that had me, kicking the papers everywhere as his grip got tighter. At first, I thought that it had been my father; thinking that he had followed me here and didn't want me to scream when he pulled me away from the desk, but knew after the man's grip tighten painfully that it wasn't him.

Then there was Saunders, but I couldn't think of one reason for him to be doing this, so I marked him off of my mental list as I continued to scream muffled screams and kick the papers around. This guy was a lot taller than me and a lot more powerful, so I closed my eyes and concentrated, feeling the burning sensation return to my lower back.

As I groaned in pain, the man laughing as I shot my eyes open; I didn't recognize the voice. I felt the burning sensation move up at my back and began to head down my right arm as I grabbed his hand, knowing that this was going to hurt him more than it would me. I stopped screaming momentarily, long enough to take a decent breath, then cried out in pain as the burning left my hand and entered his.

He cried out in pain as I was tossed to the floor roughly, closing my eyes as I hit the floor and landed roughly on the papers that were scattered everywhere. I shot my eyes open, which had closed involuntarily as I hit the floor and spun around to face him, gasping as I saw Murdock, the man that I had just read about on his knees, hand held tightly to his chest, burnt and wounded.

I glared at him as I stood, suddenly more confident as he also got to his feet, dropping both hands to his side, "I hear that you have been looking for me," he said, eyes narrowing on me.

"Far from it," I spat back, feeling the burning, which I realized was only a small irritation at this point, build up in my back again. I closed my right hand tightly, stopping the sensation from moving up my back almost immediately.

"Then why the file?" he demanded, leaning against the wall as he looked down at his hand, "Nice job, how'd you do it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I spat, eyes blazing, "Now get lost!"

"Now, now," he said calmly, dropping his hand as he locked the door and moved over to lean on it, "I don't make an appearance for nothing."

He was so cocky that it made me sick! I glared as he relaxed, which only served to anger me even more. "Well, you did this time," I spat as I lifted my hand and opened it. I was going on assumptions now, but it seemed to work non-the-less.

The blue light left my hand and sent Murdock flying back, through the door, and into the hall as my blue light left his side and encircled the chattered glass from the window in the door and gathered it in a neat pile in mid air. I closed my hand slowly, watching as the blue light mimicked the action and pushed the glass closer together. I smiled, placing it on the floor behind where the door would be and ran out of Sanders' office, Murdock grabbing my ankle as I ran by and brought me to the ground roughly with a groan.

"I don't know how you're doing that," he groaned, coughing to the weight that had been slammed into his chest, "but I will win this!"

"You won't win anything!" I cried, kicking him in the face with my free foot, forcing him to let my ankle go and fall unconscious. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the elevator, getting on and ran out of the building once on the ground level without even explaining my hast to the receptionist.

I hated that guy even more now that I've met him; he was arrogant, egotistical, pigheaded, and the most of all, he was an ass! The only good thing about meeting him was the fact that I got to learn a little more about my gift and got a little more control.

I seemed to be getting better at using this gift and now I seemed to know enough to actually practice using it. It seemed that the blue light that exited my hand would only leave my right hand, and I could control it by using my right hand, it mimicking everything I would do. I figured that much out, and now that I knew that I was the only one that could see this light and I was the only one that seemed to have any such knowledge of this gift, then I would have to learn to use it whenever I wanted and not whenever it felt that I needed it.


	6. EXPLANATIONS

**EXPLANATIONS – this is not a chapter, this is only used to clear up some comments that I had received!**

**macpw2—**I agree that the swearing isn't the best thing but it seemed necessary because of the fact that I have written this story in the eyes of a teenage girl. It doesn't seem to fit the character of Mac's daughter, but I have a plot going on that I will be shown in the next chapter—the only problem is that I am currently moving and will only be getting my internet back once settled in which is in a month. I am using a friends computer to do my posting currently. I will be writing more and the swearing will make a little more sense.

**kittn--** I agree with the comment that it doesn't sound like something Mac would teach his daughter to do, but again, it comes down to my plot issue. I will be posting another chapter as soon as my moving (read comment above) problems are settled. Let's just say that Alexis doesn't remember most of what her father taught her and it will be a lot harder for Alexis to hold on to what sanity she has left. As for Murdoc, well let's just say that she's not done with him yet.

**To all readers—**I do promise you all that I will be posting the next chapter soon but I must deal with the problems of moving (five hours away—not exactly a small move) and the stress of finding a new job. I do have the next chapter done and will have it posted asap.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters such as MacGyver, Pete, ect….although I do own the character Alexis and would like to keep it that way.**

**Chapter 6**

I had gone home after that episode with Murdock and went into the house, using the front door. Zaven was sitting at the kitchen table, drink in hand while my father was on the phone with someone in the living room.

I came in, dropped my house keys on the table and went to the fridge to grab something to drink before heading in the living room to sit down on the couch and watch some television before going to bed for the night. My father was talking with Pete, I assumed because of his tone, and I could only manage half of the conversation, but what I gathered told me that neither my father or Pete were impressed by something that had happened at the office—the office? Uh oh!

I placed my glass down on the counter, smiling softly at Zaven before heading down the hall to my room with the excuse that I was tiered and wanted to hit the hay early, knowing full well that my father wouldn't disturb me until I got up the next morning.

Now I had a real mess to deal with—Murdock had gotten away and he was totally pissed off at me. Well, it was about time I got a secret mission of my own, I would deal with him on my own and I would do the one thing that my father couldn't—I'd kill him!

I got changed rather quickly, changing into a pair of black low rider jeans and a red tank-top before grabbing and throwing on a black zipper up sweater, leaving it unzipped. I then grabbed my black sneakers and put them on before grabbing a piece of paper and a pen off of my desk.

_Dad,_

_Couldn't sleep and went_

_for a walk. See you in the_

_morning. _

_Alex_

I tossed the note onto the desk, placing the pen on top of it so that it wouldn't move, grabbed my cell phone and clipped it to my belt and then headed for my window, climbing out onto the fire escape, down the stairs as quietly as possible and out onto the street, heading back to the foundation to look for any sign of Murdock.

The foundation was never closed and most of the times this is where workers ended up in the middle of the night if they couldn't sleep or the answer to a problem hit them suddenly in the night. I knew that I could get in and out without it looking suspicious because I always came here—only usually my father knew about it, unlike this time. I knew that I had dropped Saunders keys on his desk, and I also knew that his door had been blown out, so getting anywhere near there wouldn't be to bright of an idea, considering that I wanted to stay away from Pete and the others as much as I possibly could. So to get what I needed, I would have to take a little detour, up the stairs, around the corner from shipping, down a hall, a couple of left turns, one right and I would be near Saunders' office, only I would be on the other end of the hall where no one could see me and I could watch from a distance and get the information that I needed.

Pete was standing in the hallway with several police officers in toe. He was talking with on guy while most of the others were walking around to gather information and clues, picking up the glass from the door, papers, and other things that they thought vital to their investigation.

"Looks like the person cleaned up," one cop called as Pete looked at him, suddenly confused.

"Cleaned up? Murdock? No way, it wouldn't happen," he said as he walked over and took one of the papers from the younger female cop, reading it with a sigh, "Murdock's file," he mumbled, handing it back, "I'm putting my best guy on this one."

Shit! He was going to call my father, already? I took in a breath and headed back down the hallway, retracing my steps until I got to the stairs, where I sat down for a moment. Pete was calling my father, which would bring him down here and he would be able to put two and two together to put me right in the middle of this mess, like he always did.

So I had one of two choices; get out of here and go home, pretend like I knew nothing and hope that it would all blow over; or I could go after Murdock and hope that I got a hold of him and killed him before my father found me. Choice number two sounded just as good as any to me!

I stood up and headed down the stairs and out onto the street before my father got through security. Now I had to find Murdock—or maybe I could get him to find me…now that's a thought, but how?

I was walking down the street when I decided that this was a good a time as any to try and get my gift under control, so I stopped and stood on the street corner, looking across the street to see a garbage can in the alley. I lifted my hand, but nothing happened, no light, not pain, no burning sensation, nothing. I groaned, cursing my mother as I glared at my target. Then it hit me, the angrier I got, the easier it was to get my gift to flair up—that was my triggers, my anger for my mother would set it off and the love for my father would turn it off. I smiled, thinking of my mother as the burning sensation went up my arm and rested in my hand as I closed it, holding the ability in place. I kept my eyes on my target as I opened my hand and the blue light shot out and headed straight for it.

I smiled, waiting for it to get just before it before I slowly closed my hand, as if mimicking the action on holding a glass. This caused the blue light to encircle the garbage can, just like it had the glass from Saunders' office door. It was perfect, I knew how to work the light, it was just like another hand; whatever I did with my hand, the blue light would do too. Smiling in satisfaction, I opened my hand and thought of my father, making the blue light fade before my eyes.

Now I headed to the old abandoned warehouse to practice my assumptions so not to hurt anyone, except my targets. All I had to do was get to know my gift, make it a part of my life, and I could kill Murdock for all the pain he has caused my father and I; it would all be over tonight.

The warehouse was totally abandoned, like I had assumed it would be and I began using my gift to see not just how to control it but what kind of strength it had. I send out my light and let it hit into an empty crate across the room, watching it explode upon impact, the wood chips flying everywhere. My eyes widened at the sight as the realization of just how strong this power was hit me; it had broken that crate with no effort at all into little pieces. My surprised expression vanished and was replaced by a smile as I sent out another one, letting it his an old steel door, this time, the door collapsed in and flew off the hinges.

I laughed, feeling a sudden surge of power fill my ever being and I was now content that I could control this gift without a problem, but now, instead of a burning sensation, I felt something else—something that I couldn't describe. I was filled with power, and knew it, but didn't want to help others or get world peace, no, I wanted control, power, and was going to get it at whatever cost!

My heart no longer felt heavy with my worries because I couldn't feel it, I felt no pain, regret, or sorrow for what I was doing and I no longer cared. I felt nothing, but liked it. Heard nothing but my own heavy breathing, but couldn't have care any less. I was changing, but invited the thoughts. I was no longer innocent, but wasn't concerned.

I headed for the back door of this place, pushing crates, breaking down doors, and even blew out a wall as I walked around with no real destination in mind. I saw a mirror in the distance and sent out a beam of light, it hitting it and sending it right back at me. My body jumped before my brain could acknowledge and accept the movement and I back flipped over the beam to land on top of a crate and watched as the reflected light hit a window, demolishing it into pieces that scattered over the stone floor.

I smiled down at the broken glass, but soon turned my attention to the mirror, glaring daggers at it in the distance. I jumped down from my perched spot and walked over to it, glaring into it to see my face glaring back. My natural blue eyes were a deep yellow color and my eye teeth were now in the shape of fangs—different, I thought, but didn't mind the change; no, instead I welcomed it. I smiled, realizing that I had stumbled upon my weakness—I couldn't break through a mirror—and glared at it, turning my back as I brought up my hand, tossing another beam of light to hit the crate that I once stood on, watching as the massive body was turned into a million small pieces of nothing, dust and rubble flying towards me. I hissed, barring my fangs as I brought up a hand, the blue light automatically shielding my body from any harm.

Nobody but me could see this light, no one except me knew about what it was capable of doing, and nobody but me was going to use it. I smiled again, looking down at my hand, wondering what other feats I could concur—gravity perhaps?

I placed my hand straight down, pointing it to the floor at my feet and was about to send another beam to the floor—making sure that it wouldn't be strong enough to blow out the floor, but still string enough to send me upwards—but stopped when I heard my father's voice calling my name.

I shot my head up, glaring as I heard the debris from my travels being moved around. I barred my fangs out of anger as he called my name again, this time, more panicked and worried than the first time. I brought my hand up, glaring as I was preparing to fire on him and whoever was with him…fire on him? No, this wasn't me! I couldn't! I wouldn't!

I forced my hand back down, now fighting myself as I heard him call my name again, this time followed quickly by Pete's voice calling out as well. I hissed angrily, thinking of my father, his gently voice and touch, the way he tended to me when hurt and the way he never let me down. The time he helped with homework, taught me to walk and talk, to defend myself without the use of a gun, and how he was always there when I needed him. I heard his voice once last time before I hit my knees, crying out in pain and frustration as I felt my weak body return to it's natural form, my eyes going back to blue and my fangs now gone; but the burning returned, this time, full force as my body fought this other part of me—a part that I now regretted bringing out.

"Alex!" Pete called as my father entered the room and ran to my side, hitting his knees in front of me and cupped my cheek gently.

"Not again," he whispered under his breath as Pete got to my side as well, kneeling down as I began to cry, feeling the warm tears roll down my cheeks to fall onto my jeans, "Breath, Alex breath…" he mumbled a few other things, but they never registered as my mind started to blacken, along with my vision. I felt dizzy and suddenly very sick to my stomach as my head spun violently and I was pulled into my father's arms.

"Mac, what's wrong with her?" Pete asked franticly as I continued to cry in my father's chest, feeling one of his hands rest on the back of my head as the other rested on my back, rubbing it soothingly.

"I've got this handled, Pete," I heard him say urgently as he forced me to look at him, my vision blackening and spinning. His touch was soft and it was enough for me to stop crying, my sobs only hiccups as I tried desperately to stabilize my vision.

"Dad," I whispered, "I'm sorry…"

"Shh," he said gently, hugging me tightly, "It's all right," he whispered in my ear as my vision slowly began to restore and I could finally move enough to hug him back. I felt the pain in my back slowly subside as my breathing regulated and I was finally capable of speaking in full sentences without having to take a breath between each word.

"Alex, what happened here?" Pete demanded as I pulled away from my father and forced myself to stand on weak legs. I brought my hands up to my face and wiped the tears from my eyes and cheeks before turning my back on them, breathing still a little fast.

"I don't know," I said honestly. How had I lost control of my own body like that? What was that thing that took my place? How could I have been so evil? "I really don't know."

"Take it easy kiddo," my father said as he placed a hand on my shoulder, "I need to talk to you; it's about the gift your mother left you." I looked straight ahead of me, looking at the mirror that had remained on the wall. I didn't want to face him, nor did I want to tell him about this new level in this game that we have been calling my gift. I didn't want to tell him about the emptiness that I had felt, the nothingness, the hollowness, but I knew that there was no point in lying to him about it—it would come out sometime, and I'd rather that he knew about it and heard about it from me.

"I need to talk to you too," I admitted, voice low as I continued to look at the mirror, "there more to this gift than we thought."

My father hadn't taken me home and instead he had chosen to take me to The Phoenix Foundation, where we sat in an office of some kind, just the two of us. I was looking at my feet, now ashamed of my actions tonight, and the way I had dealt with them. I hated what this gift had done to me and the way that it had taken over my life just like that, so simple.

"I was going through some old photo albums tonight," he said, keeping his back to me as he looked out the tenth story window down to the parking lot where our jeep was now parked, all alone in the dark. "This whole thing has really made me think of your mother and I wanted to see her, so I went to the old photo albums and this fell out." He turned around, holding another piece of paper that had the same purple pen that my mother had used to write my letter—I knew immediately that it was from her. "It tells about the reason she left, and it has a warning about this gift of yours." He handed me the letter and I brought my eyes to it ever so slowly, scared of the so called warning that she had left.

Dearest MacGyver,

I should be telling you this in person, but I am afraid that I am loosing the battle that is currently being fought inside of me. This gift that our child has, the gift that I cursed her with, is one of greatness, but before she can have that, she must battle the monster inside of herself. This could easily kill her, like it is doing me.

Mac, I need you to help our daughter through this. I'm warning you that this will not be easy for either of you to do, and one of your little gadgets or brain storms isn't going to help her out of this one. She will need you to be loving and accepting, but this has to come from inside of her.

She will become more and more aggressive, and this could turn one of two ways—either she will over come it and become the guardian that I know she can be, having a gift that will help her help others, or this will over come her completely, and when it does, you will have to kill her. Once over come by this monster, a guardian is completely evil and will have no remorse for his or her actions…I am afraid that this is what is happening to me.

I love you Mac, and this is why I am leaving you now, before I harm you or our child. I will be killed because I was not strong enough to overcome this beast, it is now up to you to help our daughter through this troubling time, and help her to live.

Love always,

Anza

I took in a deep breath as I finished the letter, letting the paper fall to the floor at my feet as I felt tears begin to form in the corner of my eyes, blurring my vision. That's what had happened to me! I was fighting this thing that was suddenly raised in me, and I could possibly have the same fate as my mother. She hadn't just left us, she left to protect us from that thing, and now that I met it, I understood her decision—and respected it.

"Alex, I don't know if want this letter is saying is true but…" he began but I cut him off, letting the tears roll down my cheeks freely, not bothering to wipe them away as they fell to the floor.

"It's true," I sobbed, standing up and spinning around to face him, "that's what happened to me tonight. I was going to kill you and Pete…I was destroying things, causing havoc, but I didn't care," I was crying fully now, the realization that my mother wasn't strong enough to concur this, that she had died because of it. "I had yellow eyes and fangs…dad, I'll end up dead, just like mom!"

He looked at me with such pity that only served to make me cry even harder as he came across the room, pulling me into a hug, holding me closely as he began to cry as well. I felt his hot tears touch my cheek as others fell to my shoulders.

"I don't know what to do," I cried, burying my face in his chest, coughing as my sobs took away my breath, "I can't fight this…" I sobbed as he pulled back, cupping both my cheeks, one in each hand, as tears continued to fall down his cheeks.

"Did you kill me tonight?" he asked, eyes locking with mine as I shook my head, hiccupping slightly, "Then you've started to fight back and you can do this." He said it so seriously that I couldn't help but nod in agreement; although I had a feeling deep down that I was going to lose this battle, and end up like my mother.

I was pulled back into another hug as I began to cry again. I didn't know what to do, how to fight this, or why it happened to me. All I knew was that this thing had killed my mother and it was now going it kill me if I didn't find a way to get ride of this gift. I had to fight this, not only for me and my father, but now, for my mother.

I hadn't gone home that night, walking slowly down town in the dark, not caring about the sudden sprinkling of rain that had begun to fall. I had left The Phoenix Foundation alone, leaving my father on a computer on Pete's office as I decided to go back to the wear house and wonder, no real destination or goal, just going in circles to try and think.

The place was torn apart, wood chips and dust all over the place, glass and drywall dust covering the floors and parts of the walls. I walked back to the room with the mirror, walking through the hole in the hall that I ha blow last time I was here, and headed straight for the mirror, the only thing still in place in the entire warehouse.

I stared into it, looking at my natural blue eyes, remembering the yellow color that they were tonight, and seeing the red color that they had become from crying. I remembered the fangs that were once in my mouth, and shook my head to remove the image as I took the mirror in hand, looking down at it now instead of straight into it. This was my weakness, this was the one thing that had stopped my light and hadn't even been scratched in the attack. It was still shining, not even the dust had settled on it, unlike everything else in the room.

I knew that I had to fight this some how; I just didn't know how I was going to do it exactly. Suicide wasn't the answer, to easy, but if I fought it and lost, it would fall in my father's hands to kill me. I couldn't do that to him, I couldn't put him in that situation—I wouldn't put him in that situation.

I never noticed how much I looked like my father until this very moment. I had my mother's blue eyes, but I had my father's light brown hair, his jaw line, and his expressions. I was my father in and out—and was extremely strong mentally. I could do this…I think.

I was so tiered, and my brain had been rattled so much today that I didn't know what way was up or down anymore. All I wanted to do was sleep, but another part of me wanted to figure this out and get it over with, but I knew that this wasn't going to be easy, that there was no quick fix. I needed to fight something that was inside of me and I didn't know where to start.

Should I bring it back out or would that only start another fit like before? If I did bring it out, could I control it long enough to gather the information that I needed to destroy it or would it destroy me? Could I burry it back up once I was done or would it take complete control and force my father to kill me?

Too many questions and not enough answers. I couldn't take the chance that it would win, but I couldn't just sit around while this thing slowly to over me and caused my death. I didn't know what to do, all I knew was that this was a battle that I didn't want to lose, or even tie. I wanted, no needed, to win this and I needed to do it fast before I was forced to write my father one of those letters, telling him that I had lost the battle and that I was going to be kill for his own safety.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, pondering on what my next move was, and began wondering why I had chosen to return here tonight. What was this going to accomplish? I was standing in the middle of an old abandoned warehouse, looking at my reflection in a mirror that had almost killed me only hours ago. I wasn't moving, walking, or doing anything but thinking silently. I couldn't come to a conclusion, but I wouldn't just drop it and go home for the night. I was afraid, but not like I was when I was two and thought that there was monster in my closet, not like when I was fourteen and was going to start high school, and not scared like when this all started. I was terrified that I was going to lose this battle, so terrified that I couldn't bring myself to move, all I could do was stand in this exact spot and think to no avail.

I suddenly felt sick again, but not the sick I felt when my gift got out off control, sick like the way someone feels when they are trapped with no way out. That's exactly what I was, trapped like a dog in a cage with my back against the wall and its tail between its legs.

I had to bring it out, fight it, learn to control it, kill it if possible. I placed the mirror back in its place on the wall and stood back from it; this was it, I had to do this, and hopefully I would be able to get back to myself before I caused any damage.

I began to think of my mother, but found that the anger that I once used as my trigger was gone, and was replaced by pity and remorse. I needed to find I knew trigger and fast before I changed my mind about doing this. I thought about everything that affected my life, and only found one trigger left—Murdock.

I thought of the man that had tried to kill my father on more than one occasion, the man that kidnapped me as a child to prove a point and the man that had tried to kill me at The Phoenix Foundation. I felt the burning in my back flare up and felt the fangs in my mouth grow almost immediately. I hissed as my heart was gone and I felt no pain, no worry, and absolutely no remorse. I felt my body smile and look in the mirror to see my yellow eyes glowing.

I remember thinking about the mirror, about how it was my only weakness and wondered what it was doing in the warehouse in the first place. I remember feeling an overpowering feeling of anger towards it and the feeling of wanting to break it overwhelmed me as I walked over to it, looking into it for a moment before barring my fangs and grabbing it angrily.

I felt every feeling that this monster wanted me to feel, all the hate, anger and rage that were constantly going through my body, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't feel love or happiness. I thought of my father, but only for a moment before I shot the mirror into the wall with a cry and anger, laughing as it hit the wall and smashed into a million pieces. This thing controlled my body as I fought to control my movements, but couldn't. I had two choices, give in and let this thing control me for the rest of my life; or I could fight it and try to get some control. My mother had lost that battle, she had let it win, but now I knew why. It was hard to fight it when I couldn't remember what love felt like, what happiness was, and why I wanted to return to normal. I couldn't remember my father's soft touch or voice, all I knew was that the frustration of my life was gone and I felt no real pain.

It was a feeling that was easy to get used to, I had to admit, and that was this things motive, its only control was to make you think that power was everything and that it was the only thing that mattered in life. I suddenly felt like I was suffocating, like I was getting no air in my lungs and I wanted out. I struggled, and felt my body hit its knees as I thought of my father, and what staying like this would do to him. I heard my voice scream out in anger, but didn't remember telling it to do so. I took in a deep breath and screamed in fear and anger, but didn't hear this scream being voiced by my body. I was truly trapped in this body, but had no control over it; my brain and body weren't attached when I was in this form. I could scream and talk out loud, but my body wouldn't voice any of it unless it was this things idea, or I managed to get it during a moment of weakness.

I could feel what my body was doing, if it was hit or hurt, but didn't care—I didn't like not caring. I wanted out, and that was final! I took in another breath, seeing my eyes glare and my fangs bare as I cried out, this time my body voicing this sudden outburst as this creature swung out and punched through the wall, my hand and arm covered in the chalk dust from the dry wall. I took in another breath, actually screaming for it to go away and leave me alone, but all my body voiced was a small groan of annoyance as I pulled my hand from the wall, sneezing.

At that point I felt my body weaken, and felt this things grip on me loosen slightly as I sneezed again. I smiled, thinking at how this thing was strong enough to break down walls but so weak as to lose its grip because of an allergy to chalk.

My body sneezed again and that was the moment that I cried out, my body doing the same as I hit my knees and transformed back to my human form. I took in a breath, coughing slight as my fangs disappeared and my eyes returned to brown. I wanted to cry, but held back the tears as I knew that this entire ordeal hadn't been in vain—I now knew one more weakness, I now knew that this thing well weak during a simple sneeze and that it couldn't handle allergies.

I was still on my knees, my hands planted firmly on the floor in front of me, keeping me from toppling forward and hitting the floor fully. Saying that I was weak now would be an understatement, and I even contemplated laying down and not moving, just going to sleep for the rest of the night and starting fresh and new in the morning. I had thought that, but I knew that my father would panic if I didn't show up home, and I didn't know how long I would sleep once I relaxed.

I forced myself to stand and slowly began my way back through the warehouse and out onto the street when my feet gave way and I collapsed to my knees on the sidewalk. I wanted to groan, but it came out sounding like I cry as I took in a rattled breath. I could still feel this things grip on my heart, and I knew that it wouldn't be long now before I couldn't battle it. I needed to find a way out, a way to win, but it wasn't looking good and I knew that if I didn't do so soon, I would be done for. I wanted to just give up, but it wasn't an option, so I got back up and continued my way back home.

I was coughing violently at this point, breathing heavily as I forced myself to walk down the sidewalk, stumbling drunkenly all the way until I hit the driveway to our neighbors and collapsed again. I had to get home, but this wasn't getting any easier for me. It had begun to rain, making my hair stick to my face, causing only more frustration as I looked up at my house, seeing the living room light turn on.

My father was worried about me, he was still awake. I sighed, crying softly as his face came into view, looking out the living room window to the street, his eyes filled with worry that only he could feel. I knew that I was the cause of his worrying, but there was nothing that I could do to stop it.

I forced myself up with a groan and headed up the front steps slowly, careful to not fall back down them to crash into the cement at the bottom. I could hear my bed calling out for me and my body knew it, all it wanted to do was collapse and sleep, while all my brain wanted to do was stay up and find a solution. I constantly felt sick, and it was more tiring then fighting this monster in the first place.

I opened the door, stumbling in as my father spun around to look at me, dripping wet and glaring as I slammed the door and sat down in the kitchen, not sure if I could get back up to go to bed.

"Alex, were in the…." He began but I cut him off immediately.

"Don't nag me!" I snapped quicker than my brain could process the fact. I didn't know what had brought it on, but all I knew was that I couldn't feel the fangs in my mouth, so I knew that this was me. I was suddenly easy to annoy and even more aggressive than usual.

My mother had warned us of this, and she was right. I was getting more and more aggressive and it seemed that this was signs that I was losing the battle. I gritted my teeth almost immediately after saying the words, looking down at the kitchen table.

"You should have come straight home," he said as I felt his look of disappointment melt the back of my head, "You had me worried," he added, voice low.

"I've told you a thousand times that I don't need your pity!" I snapped, slamming my hands on the table as I stood up and spun around to face him, "When will you just let me grow up?" I demanded, glaring deeply.

I saw my father's jaw drop, but he soon closed his mouth long enough to look at me, eyes showing no pity as he glared at me. I knew that if I tried hard enough I could apologize, but I didn't want to. I wanted to leave here, but knew that he would only chase me down.

My once weak body felt strong again as I stood strong in front of him, our eyes glaring deeply at one another. We would have stayed there all night long, just glaring silently at one another, if my father hadn't spoken up.

"I know this is what your mother was talking about, Soldier, but I am still your father and I still deserve your respect," he replied rather calmly. I glared at him.

"I am not losing the battle!" I cried, knowing that I couldn't say that with complete certainty, but didn't care.

"Don't put words in my mouth Alexis!" he snapped impatiently, "I never said that you were."

"That's what you implied, isn't it?" I cried back at him, glaring deeply, "You think that I'm weak like that good for nothing mother of mine!"

"Don't talk about her that way!" he cried, suddenly angry as I touched a nerve. I glared silently at him for a moment, our eyes clashing like the sun and ice would as I saw his eyes harden.

"You're always protecting her," I snapped, "she left us, remember?" I said coldly and walked down to my room, slamming the door shut.

I was angry now, but I knew that this thing had put my negative emotions to the extreme, leaving them in control of the positive ones. I knew that that was its game, but didn't care anymore; I was angry now and that's all that seemed to matter to me. He was always protecting her, which drove me nuts, and now I had the strangest urge to have a drink.

I never drank, not after I got caught drunk at a party when I was fourteen by my father and he refused to give me some Tylenol the next day to help with the hangover; I haven't touched the stuff since, but now I wanted it more than anything. I leaned against the door to my bedroom, glaring at the window as I contemplated whether it was worth going out to get something or not. I was haven't a hard time to control this thing as myself, completely sober, but all I wanted was to drink and get away. This thing had complete control over my body, which happened to include my lips and voice, and the thought of drinking seemed like the wrong thing to do. If I can't control it now, what would drinking to the point of intoxication help? Once drunk I would have more than this thing as a problem, I would have a body and mind that would be blurred and useless to me—and it!

That was it, if I could get drunk, get pissed off and bring this thing out, then I might be able to concur it because of the fact that my body would be useless to it. I would be staggering and stumbling drunkenly and this thing wouldn't be expecting a drunken body that it would have to control. I knew for a fact that my mother didn't drink, because of my father, so there was no way that she had tried this, and let's face it, I wanted to do something that she didn't, because if she tried it, it didn't manage to help her any, right? It was worth a try, get drunk and hope that this thing isn't ready to control me as a staggering drunk. It was settled then; I would have to get drunk, and fast.

That wouldn't be so hard because there're several people in this town that would gladly buy a minor some liquor, for a price of course. I grabbed my jacket, not caring that I was still socking wet or that it was still raining out, all I wanted to do was put this plan in motion before my father and me got into another fight and this time something was said that couldn't be forgiven. I pulled my jacket on and unclipped my cell phone from my belt, tossing it roughly to the floor, letting it slide into the wall as I headed over to my desk, pulling open the drawer and pulled out an envelope that was filled with some money that I had been putting aside.

Heading downtown was easy enough, and getting the liquor was even easier—one drunk, twenty dollars, and the liquor was mine for the taking. I headed back to the warehouse, knowing that if this went south, at least my father would be able to find me or my body in the worst case. It was time to start this, and pray that this thing couldn't handle some good old fashioned hard vodka.

I was assuming that this thing was a lot older than me, ancient even, and knowing that this was the only thing that my mother wouldn't have tried gave me in incentive to crack open the bottle and take a mouthful.

I slammed my eyes closed, groaning in repulsion as the liquor ran down my throat and burned. I opened my eyes and glared at the wall, taking another swig, this time jugging the liquid until I couldn't handle the feeling and I pulled away, bringing the bottle to my side slowly, and let it sit on the floor by my leg gently.

Once finishing the first bottle, which was only medium sized, I stood, feeling dizzy and watched as my vision blurred. Oh yeah, I was drunk all right, and I suddenly hoped that this plan was going to work. I opened the second bottle, walking—well more like staggering—as I started to drink this one. I didn't need to finish this one, feeling more than drunk after two or maybe it was three mouthfuls. My vision was blurry, my body was useless to me now, and I hoped that it would be to it too.

I glared, not having to think of anything in particular to start this transformation, feeling the fangs grow in my mouth and watched as my vision suddenly cleared as they turned yellow, but blurred drunkenly again.

I felt my body groan in annoyance as my eyes glared, then stumbled drunkenly as I slammed into the wall, sliding down and sitting there, fangs barred and hissing in anger. I smiled, although my lips didn't mimic the motion—this told me that the creature had control over the body and that I was trapped inside. The only difference is that I could now think clearly, my body was drunk, and now that the creature had control, it was drunk and not me. I remembered everything and now, my body could barely walk, never mind fight me back.

"Can't handle liquor can you!" I cried, hearing my body cry out in anger as it attempted to stand again, drunkenly. I smiled, as it glared at the bottle in my hand, "What's the matter? Don't like the feeling?"

My body cried out as it hurled the bottle at the opposing wall, watching it mash in a millions pieces angrily. I laughed, gritting my teeth as I cried out, although this wasn't voiced, and I fought to get it out of my body. Now that it was drunk and couldn't fight me back with all its true capacity, I was easily the victor as I bright blue light blinded me. The next thing I felt was my back hitting the wall as the force of whatever this was threw me into it with suck a force that I cried out, hearing my voice.

I no longer had fangs, and I knew that my eyes must have returned back to there natural blue color, but the only thing different this time was that I could hear someone else's breathing. I strained my eyes open, seeing the source of the second breathing noises. I had gotten my body back alright, but I had knocked it out of my body.

This thing stood before me with yellow eyes and long fangs. I cried out in fear, forcing my leg to get me to stand so I could see this thing face-to-face instead of face-to-feet. It was dressed completely in black, a black cloak covering its shoulders as my eyes widened—I had heard of people sobering up quickly during a moment of necessity, but I never knew just how fast until this moment. It was angry, hissing and glaring as I looked at it in complete bewilderment, this was the thing that was inside of me and the thing that had killed my mother, but how in the hell did I manage to separate it from my body?

"You'll regret doing that, wench," it hissed as I scrambled away, running to the other side of the room, obviously still drunk, "Now I can jus kill you!" Its voice was scratchy, rough like nails, and it was enough to scare me to death.

I watched it, like it was all happening in slow motion, as it raised its hand and shot a flash of blue light my way. Did I still have my abilities? If I did, were they anything in comparison to it's? I shot my hand up, crying out in fear as a bright purple light shot from my hand to hit its blue light, which only cancelled each other out in an explosion of light and sparks.

I gasped, breathing quickly as this thing backed off of me slowly, "I'll be back for you," it snarled, glaring before disappearing in a bright blue light.

I slid down the wall, pulling my knees to my chest and rested my head on them. His wasn't good, I was drunk beyond belief, this thing that was once inside me is now running lose in the city, and I didn't even know where to begin. I was happy that I had won this part of the battle and that my life wasn't in jeopardy anymore; I was pissed that I was now drunk out of my skull and couldn't even stand, never mind walk; and I was worried about what this thing was capable of doing, not only to me but anyone else that might fall in its path. I now had a bigger responsibility on my shoulders, I had to find that thing and kill it before it found and killed me.


	8. EXPLANATIONS 2

**EXPLANATIONS – this is not a chapter, this is only used to clear up some comments that I had received!**

**kittn—**Thank you for the correction, yes you were right in what I meant and I appreciate it. Her eye color doesn't really have anything to do with the color of her light. I will be explaining it in further chapters, but to satisfy your curiosity you can read the next paragraph and see what the color change is all about….(that goes for anyone!)

Well kittn, the color change shows that Alex has won the first battle with the thing. Evil Guardians (which is the name I have given the people that have this ability) have a blue light and the good ones use a bright purple one. The color change shows that the evil thing that was once inside of Alex is now gone….but he isn't done with her yet….does that help?


	9. EXPLANATIONS 3

I appologize for the delay in updates, but my computer blew up last week and now is really in scrambles… I am trying to get it running properly and until then I cannot update—I appologize.


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